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HISTORICAL ESSAYS. 



By LORD MAHON. 



HISTORICAL ESSAYS. 



- uLouw-v\oia^, rhJtZjp He^vtx.j 



BY LOKD MAHON. 



CONTRIBUTED TO 

THE QUARTERLY REVIEW/ 



LONDON: 
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 

1849. 



^ 



Tl l 



London ; Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street, 



TO 

J. G. LOCKHAKT, Esq, 

THESE ESSAYS, 

HAVING FIRST APPEARED IN THE REVIEW 

WHICH HE SO ABLY DIRECTS, 

ARE NOW IN THEIR COLLECTED FORM 

INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR 

AS 

A SLIGHT TOKEN 

OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP AND ESTEEM, 

1848. M - 



CONTENTS. 



JOAN OF ARC 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS 



LETTERS OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE 



LAST YEARS OF FREDERICK THE SECOND 



Pa be 
1 



59 

. 108 

125 

. 195 



LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT AND THE DUKE OF 

RUTLAND 241 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION 
LATIN INSCRIPTIONS 



. 272 



. 296 



HISTORICAL ESSAYS. 



JOAN OF AEC. / 



[Qu. Rev., No. 138. March, 1842.] 

1. Collection des Chroniques Nationales Francaises. Par M. Buchon. 

36 vols. Paris, 1826. 

2. Collection Complete des Memoires relatifs a I'Histoire de France. Par 

M. Petitot. Premiere Serie, 52 vols. Seconde Serie, par MM. Petitot 
et Monmerque, 78 vols. Paris, 1819 — 1829. 

3. Collection des Memoires relatifs a I'Histoire de France. Par M. Guizot. 

30 vols. Paris, 1823—1835. 

4. Archives Curieuses de I'Histoire de France. Premiere Serie, 15 vols. 

Seconde Se'rie, 12 vols. Paris, 1834 — 1841. 

5. Proces de Jeanne d' 'Arc. Par Jules Quicherat. Premier tome. Paris, 

1841. 

If we compare the progress of historical publications in France 
and England during the last twenty or thirty years we shall find 
but little ground for self-gratulation. Our Record Commission 
comprised most able men : it was animated by the best intentions ; 
but in its results it has brought forth only misshapen and abortive 
works — all begun apparently without rule or method — scarce 
any yet completed, and scarce any deserving to be so — all of dif- 
ferent forms and sizes — and alike only in the enormous amount 
of the expense incurred, and the almost utter worthlessness of the 
information afforded. .Never before, according to the farmer's 
phrase, was there so much cry and so much cost with so little 
wool. Amongst the French, on the contrary, there have been — 
without the need of government grants or government commis- 
sions — some well-combined undertakings to collect, arrange, and 
publish the most valuable documents in their language, from 
their early chronicles down to their modern memoirs. These 
have been printed in regular succession, and in one uniform and 

B 



JOAN OF AKC. 



convenient size, affording to the public a clear and excellent 
type, combined with a moderate price. We do not pretend to 
have read at any time all or nearly all the two hundred volumes 
which our title-page displays. Some of their contents also were 
known to us from former and separate publications ; but so far 
as our reading in this edition has extended, we have found the 
biographical introductions clear, critical, and able, and the text, 
while not overlaid, sufficiently explained, with notes. We think 
very great praise is due to the various editors, MM. Buchon, 
Petitot, Monmerque, and last, not least, that eminent statesman 
who now presides over the councils of his country. And we 
heartily commend these volumes to the purchase and perusal of 
all who value French history — to the emulation of all who value 
our own. 

To review in a few pages several hundred volumes and several 
hundred years would be a vain and frivolous attempt. We shall 
prefer to single out some one period and some one subject, which 
we shall endeavour to illustrate, not only from the publications 
now before us, but from whatever other sources may supply. Let 
us take one of the most remarkable characters in ancient or 
modern times, Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans. The eighth 
volume of M. Petitofs ' Collection ' contains many ancient 
documents referring to her history, — an original letter, for 
example, from the Sire de Laval to his mother, describing her 
appearance at Court — and some memoirs written, beyond all 
doubt, by a contemporary, since the writer refers to information 
which he received from the chiefs at the siege of Orleans ; nay, 
written probably, as M. Petitot conjectures from their abrupt 
termination, in the very year of that siege. 

But these are by no means the only nor the most important 
documents to be consulted. It is well known that at the trial in 
1431, Joan was herself examined at great length, together with 
many other witnesses. A new trial of " revision," with the 
view to clear her memory from the stain of the first, was under- 
taken by order of King Charles in 1456 ; and at this second 
trial several of her kinsmen, of her attendants, of her companions 
in arms, appeared to give their testimony. Now, manuscript 
copies of all these remarkable depositions exist in the public 
libraries, both of Paris and Geneva. They have been illustrated 



JOAN OF ARC. 



by MM. de Laverdy and Lebrun de Charmettes, and more re- 
cently by the superior skill of De Barante and Sismondi.* Of 
these last we shall especially avail ourselves ; and by combining 
and comparing such original records, many of them descending 
to the most familiar details, and nearly all unknown till more 
recent times, we hope to make the English reader, at least, 
better acquainted than he may hitherto have been with the real 
character and history of the heroine. 

Joan was the child of Jacques d'Arc, and of Isabeau Romee 
his wife, poor villagers of Domremy, on the borders of Lorraine. 
She had one sister, who appears to have died in childhood, and 
three brothers. When asked at her trial what had been her age 
on first coming to King Charles's Court, she answered, nineteen. 
The good rule of making a large addition to a lady's own decla- 
ration of her years does not appear needful in this case : her own 
declaration was also confirmed by other witnesses ; and we may 
without hesitation fix her birth in 1410 or 141 l.f Her educa- 
tion was such as a peasant-girl received at that time ; she was 
not taught to read or to write, but she could spin and sew and 
repeat her Pater-Noster and her Ave-Maria. From her early 
childhood she was sent forth to tend her father's flocks or herds 
on the hills. Far from giving signs of any extraordinary hardi- 
hood or heroism, she -was -so bashful as to be put out of counte- 
nance whenever spoken to by a stranger. She was known to her 
neighbours only as a simple-minded and kind-hearted girl, 
always ready to nurse the sick, or to relieve any poor wayfarer 
whom chance might lead to her village. An ardent piety, how- 
ever, soon made her an object of remark, and perhaps of ridicule. 
She was sometimes seen to kneel and pray alone in the fields. 
She took no pleasure in the pastimes of her young companions ; 
but as soon as her daily work was over she would rush to the 
church, and throw herself prostrate with clasped hands before 
the altar, directing her devotions especially to the Virgin and to 
Saints Catherine and Margaret, in whose name that church was 
dedicated. The sacristan declares in his depositions at the trial 

* De Barante, ' Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne,' vol. v. pp. 270 — 360, and 
vol. vi. pp. 1 — 140 ; Sismondi, ' Histoire des Franeais,' vol. xiii. pp. 115 — 194. 

f Yet Pasquier (perhaps from a misprint in his book) has altered nineteen 
to twenty-nine, and this error has misled both Hume and Rapin. 

B 2 



JOAN OF ARC. 



that she was wont to rebuke him whenever he neglected to ring* 
the bells for the village service, and to promise him a reward if 
he would for the future do his duty better. Every Saturday, and 
sometimes oftener, she went in pilgrimage to a small chapel, 
dedicated to the Virgin, at a little distance from the village. 
Another spot to which Joan often repaired was a venerable beech, 
which spread its ancient boughs on the confines of the neighbour- 
ing forest of Bois Chenu. At its foot ran a clear streamlet, to 
whose waters healing powers were ascribed. The tree bore the 
popular name of " LArbredes Dames," or il L'Arbredes Fees," 
and, according to Joan herself at her trial, several grey-headed 
crones in the village, and amongst the rest her godmother, pre- 
tended to have heard with their own ears fairies discoursing 
beneath the mysterious shade. But for that very reason the tree 
was hallowed by Catholic worship, as such spots have ever been, 
in the dark ages with the view to drive out the evil spirits, in 
less credulous times to dispel the superstition from the public 
mind. Once every year the priest of Domremy, at the head of 
the elders of the village, walked round the tree in solemn pro- 
cession, chanting psalms and prayers, while the young people 
were wont to hang garlands on the boughs, and to dance beneath 
them until night with lighter minstrelsy, 

" or legend old, 
Or song heroically bold." 

The times in which the lot of Joan was cast were such as to 
turn an ardent spirit towards things of earth as well as towards 
things of heaven. Her young heart beat high with enthusiasm 
for her native France, now beset and beleaguered by the island- 
strangers. Her young fancy loved to dwell on those distant 
battles, the din of which might scarcely reach her quiet village, 
but each apparently hastening the ruin of her father-land. We 
can picture to ourselves how earnestly the destined heroine — the 
future leader of armies — might question those chance travellers 
whom, as we are told, she delighted to relieve, and for whose use 
she would often resign her own chamber, as to each fresh report 
from the changeful scene of war. She was ten years of age 
when the ignominious treaty of Troyes, signed by a monarch of 
diseased intellect, yielded the succession to the English. She 
was twelve years of age when that unhappy monarch (Charles VI.) 



JOAN OF ARC. 



expired, when the infant King of England was proclaimed King 
of France at Paris, at Rouen, and at Bordeaux, when the rightful 
heir, the Dauphin (but few as yet would term him Charles VII.), 
could only hold his little Court in the provinces beyond the 
Loire. In 1423 came the news of the defeat of Crevant; in 
1424 the flower of French and Scottish chivalry fell at Verneuil ; 
in 1425 La Hire and his brave companions were driven from 
Champagne. A brief respite was indeed afforded to Charles by 
the recall of the Regent Duke of Bedford, to quell the factions 
at home, and by some difference which arose between him and 
his powerful kinsman and ally the Duke of Burgundy. But all 
these feuds were now composed, and Bedford had returned, eager 
to carry the war beyond the Loire, and to crush the last hopes 
of the " Armagnacs," as Charles's adherents were termed, from 
the prevailing party at his Court. Had Bedford succeeded — had 
the diadems of France and England been permanently united on 
the same head — it is hard to say which of the two nations would 
have had the greater reason for regret. 

Remote as was the situation of Domremy, it could not wholly 
escape the strife or the sufferings of those evil times. All the 
people of that village, with only one exception, were zealous 
Armagnacs ; some of their neighbours, on the contrary, were no 
less zealous Burgundians. _ So strong was Joan of Arc's attach- 
ment to the King, that, according to her own avowal, she used 
to wish for the death of his one disloyal subject at Domremy. 
When Charles's lieutenants had been driven from Champagne, 
the fathers of her village had of course like the rest bowed their 
heads beneath the Burgundian yoke, but the children retained 
their little animosities, and the boys were wont to assemble and 
sally forth in a body to fight the tiny Burgundians of the ad- 
joining village of Maxey. Joan says at her trial that she had 
often seen her brothers returning bruised and bloody from these 
mimic wars. 

On one occasion a more serious inroad of a party of Burgun- 
dian cavalry compelled the villagers of Domremy to take to flight 
with their families and flocks, and await elsewhere the passing of 
the storm. Joan and her parents sought shelter at an hostelry in 
Neufchateau, a town safe from aggression, as belonging to the 
Duke of Lorraine, where she remained, as she tells us, during 



JOAN OF ARC. 



fifteen days,* and where she probably may have wrought for her 
living ; and such is the only foundation for the story given by 
Monstrelet, a chronicler of the Burgundian faction, and adopted 
by Hume and other later historians, that Joan had been for 
several years a servant at an inn. 

The fiery spirit of Joan, wrought upon by the twofold impulse 
of religious and political enthusiasm, was not slow in teeming 
with vivid dreams and ardent aspirations ; ere long these grew 
in intensity, and she began to fancy that she saw the visions and 
heard the voices of her guardian saints, calling on her to re-esta- 
blish the throne of France, and expel the foreign invaders. It is 
probable that a constitution which, though robust and hardy, was 
in some points imperfect, may have contributed in no small de- 
gree to the phantoms and illusions of her brain. "j* She said on 
her trial that she was thirteen years of age when these apparitions 
began. The first, according to her own account, took place in 
her father's garden, and at the hour of noon, when she suddenly 
saw a brilliant light shining in her eyes, and heard an unknown 
voice bidding her continue a good girl, and promising that 
God would bless her. The second apparition, some time after- 
wards, when she was alone, tending her flock in the fields, had 
become much more defined to her view, and precise in its in- 
junctions ; some majestic forms floated before her ; some myste- 
rious words reached her ears, of France to be delivered by her 
aid 4 Gradually these forms resolved themselves into those of 
St. Catherine and St. Margaret, while the third, from whom the 
voice seemed to come, and who looked, as she says, " a true 

* Second Examination of Joan of Arc at Eouen. — See ' Collection des Me- 
moires, 1 vol. viii. p. 242. M. Petitot adds, " Nevertheless it seems certain 
that during her stay at Neufchateau she did the duty of servant at the inn 
where she lodged. Considering the poverty of her parents, this was probably 
the mode in which she and her brothers repaid the hospitality which they 
received." 

f Sexus siri ivfirmitates semper usque ad mortem qfuisse constat. — Sis- 
mondi, ' Histoire des Franc, ais,' vol. xiii. p. 117. 

% It is plain, however, that Joan, in the account she gave at her trial of 
this second apparition, unconsciously transferred to it some circumstances 
that, according to her own view of the case, must have been of several years' 
later date. A promise " de faire lever le siege d'Orleans" could not be 
given until after the siege had begun, which it was not until October, 1428. 
Now, her second vision, as she states it, must have been about 1424. — Col- 
lection, vol. viii. p. 238. 



JOAN OF ARC. 



worthy" {tin way preud'homme), announced himself to her as 
Michael the Archangel. " I saw him," she said to her judges, 
" with these eyes, as plainly as I see you now." In another part 
of her trial, when again questioned on the same subject, she 
answered — " Yes, I do believe firmly, as firmly as I believe in 
the Christian faith, and that God has redeemed us from the pains 
of hell, that those voices came from Him, and by His command." 
Her own sincerity and strength of belief are, indeed, beyond 
doubt or cavil : it was this feeling alone that could animate her 
to such lofty deeds, or support her in so dismal a death. 

It is alleged by Joan herself that she was struck with affright 
at the first [of these visions (eut moult paour de ce), but that 
the following ones filled her with ecstasy and rapture. " When 
the Saints were disappearing, I used to weep and beseech I might 
be borne away with them, and after they had disappeared I used 
to kiss the earth on which they had rested." Sometimes she 
spoke of her celestial monitors as mes Voix, and sometimes gave 
them the reverential title of Messire ; and, in gratitude for such 
signs of heavenly favour, she vowed to herself that she would 
consecrate her maiden state to God. 

Meanwhile, however, she was growing up in comeliness and 
beauty, and found favour in the sight of an honest yeoman, who 
sought her in marriage, ^ind whose suit was warmly pressed by 
her parents. Joan steadily refused. The rustic lover, having 
soon exhausted his scanty stock of rhetoric, had recourse to a 
singular expedient : he pretended that she had made him a pro- 
mise of marriage, and cited her before the official at Toul to 
compel her to perform her engagement. The Maid went herself 
to Toul, and undertook her own defence, when having declared 
on oath that she had never made any such promise, the official 
gave sentence in her favour. 

Her parents, displeased at her stubborn refusal, and unable to 
comprehend — nor did she dare to reveal to them — her motives, 
held her, as she says, " in great subjection." They were also 
much alarmed at the strange hints which she let fall to others on 
the mission which she believed had been intrusted to her from 
on high. Several of these hints are recorded by the persons to 
whom they were addressed, the witnesses in the trial of 1456. 
She said to that inhabitant of Domremy whose death she had 



JOAN OF ARC. 



desired to see because he did not favour the Dauphin, " Gossip, 
if you were not a Burgundian, I could tell you something." To 
another neighbour she exclaimed, " There is now between Co- 
lombey and Yaucouleurs a maid who will cause the King of 
France to be crowned !" She frequently said that it was needful 
for her to proceed into France.* Honest Jacques and Isabeau 
felt no other fear than that their daughter's ardent imagination 
might be practised upon by some men-at-arms, and she be in- 
duced to go forth from home, and follow them to the wars. " Did 
I think such a thing would be," said her father to one of his sons, 
" I would sooner that you drowned her ; and if you did not, I 
would with my own hands !" 

The impulse given by her visions, and the restraints imposed 
by her sex and station, might long have struggled for mastery in 
the mind of Joan, had not the former been quickened and 
brought into action by a crisis in political affairs. The Duke of 
Bedford having returned to France, and mustered large rein- 
forcements from Burgundy, sent forth a mighty army against 
Charles. Its command he intrusted to the valiant Earl of 
Salisbury, under whom fought Sir John Talbot, Sir John Fas- 
tolf, Sir William Gladsdale, captains of high renown. Salis- 
bury, having first reduced Rambouillet, Pithiviers, Jargeau, Sully, 
and other small towns, which yielded with slight or no resistance, 
proceeded to the main object of his enterprise, the siege of 
Orleans — a city commanding the passage of the Loire and the 
entrance into the southern provinces, and the most important, 
both from its size and its situation, of any that the French yet 
retained. Here, then, it was felt on all sides, must the last 
struggle for the French monarchy be made. Orleans once sub- 
dued, the troops of Bedford might freely spread over the open 
country beyond the Loire, and the Court of Charles must seek 
shelter in the mountains of Auvergne or of Dauphine. To this 
scene, then, the eyes not only of France and of England, but of 
all Europe, were turned ; on this ground, as on the champ- 
clos of ancient knights and paladins, had been narrowed the 

* " At that time the name of France was reserved for those provinces only 
■which formed the Crown domain. The other provinces, when mentioned 
collectively, were called Royaume de France." — Supplement aux Memoires 
de Jeanne d'Arc, Collection, vol. viii. p. 240. 



JOAN OF AEC. 



conflict for sovereignty on the one side, for independence on the 
other. 

It was in the month of October, 1428, that Orleans was first 
invested by the Earl of Salisbury. But his design had been 
previously foreseen, and every exertion made both by the French 
King and by the inhabitants themselves to provide for along and 
resolute defence. A brave officer, the Sire de Gaucourt, had 
been appointed governor, and two of the principal captains of that 
age, Pothon de Xaintrailles and Dunois, a bastard of the Royal 
branch of Orleans, threw themselves into the place with a large 
body of followers. The citizens on their part showed a spirit 
that might have done honour to soldiers : not only did they largely 
tax themselves for their own defence, but many brought to the 
common stock a larger sum than had been imposed on them ; 
they cheerfully consented that their suburb of Portereau, on the 
southern bank, opposite the city, should be razed to the ground, 
lest it should afford any shelter to the enemy, and from the same 
motive all the vineyards and gardens within two miles from the 
walls were laid waste by the owners themselves. The men able 
to bear arms were enrolled in bands, and the rest formed them- 
selves into processions solemnly to bear the holy relics from 
church to church, and to implore with unceasing prayer the mercy 
and protection of Heaven.* 

The first assault of Salisburv was directed against the bulwark 
defending the approaches of the bridge on the southern bank, or, 
as we should call it at present, the tete-de-pont. After a stubborn 
resistance and great bloodshed, he dislodged the townspeople 
from the place. They then took post at two towers which had 
been built one on each side the passage, some way forward upon 
the bridge, and they took care for the security of the city to break 
down one of the arches behind them, and only kept up their com- 
munication by planks and beams which could be readily removed. 
The next day, however, Sir William Gladsdale, one of the best 
officers in the English army, finding the waters of the Loire 
unusually shallow at that season, waded with his men nearly up 
to the towers, and succeeded in storming them. He proceeded 
to build'a bulwark connecting the two towers, and joined them 
with the tete-de-pont on the shore, thus forming a fort, which 
* Barante, ' Dues de Bourgogne,' vol. v. p. 254. 



10 JOAN OF ARC. 



he called from them La Bastille des Tournelles, and which 
enabled him to plant a battery full against the city. But his 
activity proved fatal to his chief. A very few days afterwards 
the Earl of Salisbury came to visit the works. He had ascended 
one of the towers with Sir William, to survey more clearly the 
wide circuit of the enemy's walls, when a cannon-ball fired from 
them (for this, as Hume observes, is among the first sieges where 
cannon were found to be of importance) broke a splinter from 
the casement, and struck on his face with a mortal wound. At 
his decease the Earl of Suffolk succeeded to his command, though 
not to his full influence and authority. Having tried in several 
attacks the great number of the besieged, as well as their stub- 
born resolution, he determined to turn the siege into a blockade, 
to surround the city with forts or " bastilles," and to reduce it 
by famine. The works for this purpose were continued steadily 
throughout the winter. Frequent assaults on the one side, fre- 
quent sallies on the other, proved the fiery ardour of the besiegers 
and the unfailing constancy of the besieged. In the unfinished 
state of the English works, supplies and reinforcements could still 
at intervals be brought into Orleans, and as the French light 
troops ravaged the open country beyond, it sometimes happened 
that there was no less dearth and scarcity in the English camp 
than in the beleaguered city. But upon the whole, both the 
stores and the garrison of Orleans wasted away much faster than 
they could be renewed ; they saw tower after tower, and redoubt 
after redoubt, rising up to complete the line — each a link in the 
long chain which was to bind them ; they perceived that, while 
they declined, the English were gradually growing in strength 
and numbers ; and it became evident, even to themselves, that 
unless some great effort could be made for their deliverance, they 
must be overpowered in the ensuing spring. 

It was the news of this siege that kindled to the highest pitch 
the fervent imagination of Joan of Arc. Her enthusiasm, as 
we have seen, was twofold, political and religious. The former 
would impel her to free King Charles from his present and 
pressing danger, the latter to sanctify his claim by his coronation. 
For, until his head had been encircled with the ancient crown 
and anointed with the holy oil at Bheims, Charles was not truly 
King to priestly or to popular eyes, but only Dauphin — not the 



JOAN OF AEC. 11 



real possessor, only the rightful heir. From this time, then, 
the visions of Joan, hitherto unsettled and wavering, steadily 
fixed on two objects which she believed herself commissioned 
from Heaven to achieve — -to raise the siege of Orleans, and to 
crown the Dauphin at Rheims. And if we compare the great- 
ness and the difficulty of such objects with the sex, the station, 
and the years of the person aiming at them, we cannot but 
behold with admiration the undaunted intrepidity that did not 
quail from such a task. 

The scheme of Joan was to go to the neighbouring town of 
Vaucouleurs, reveal her visions to the governor, Robert de 
Baudric'ourt, a zealous adherent of Charles, and entreat his aid 
and protection for enabling her to reach the King's presence. 
From her parents she was well aware that she could expect no 
encouragement. Her first step, therefore, was, on the plea of a 
few days' visit, to repair to the house of her uncle Durand 
Laxart, who lived at the village of Petit Burey, betw r een Dom- 
remy and Vaucouleurs. To him she then imparted all her 
inspirations and intentions. The astonishment of the honest 
villager may be easily imagined. But the energy and earnest- 
ness of Joan wrought so powerfully on his mind as to convince 
him of the truth of her mission, and he undertook to go in her 
place to Vaucouleurs, and do her bidding with the Sire de 
Baudricourt. His promises of divine deliverance by the hands 
of a peasant-girl were, however, received by the stern old 
warrior with the utmost contempt and derision : " Box your 
niece's ears well," said he, " and send her home to her 
father."* 

Far from being disconcerted at her uncle's ill success, the 
Maid immediately set out herself for Vaucouleurs in company 
with Laxart. It was with some difficulty that she could obtain 
admission to the Governor, or a patient hearing from him even 
when admitted to his presence. Baudricourt, unmoved by her 
eloquence, continued to set at nought her promises and her 
requests. But Joan now displayed that energy and strength of 
will which so seldom fail to triumph where success is possible. 
She resolved to remain at Vaucouleurs, again and again appeal- 
ing to the Governor, and conjuring him not to neglect the voice 
* Collection des Memoires, vol. viii. p. 246. 



12 JOAN OF ARC. 



of God, who spoke through her, and passing- the rest of her 
time in fervent prayers at the church. Once she went back for 
a little time with her uncle to his village, but she soon induced 
him to return ; another time she had determined to begin with 
him and on foot her journey of one hundred and fifty leagues to 
the French Court. On further reflection, however, she felt un- 
willing to proceed without at least a letter from Baudricourt. 
At length he consented to write, and refer the question of her 
journey to the decision of King Charles. Upon his own mind 
she had made little or no impression, but several other persons 
in the town, struck with her piety and perseverance, became 
converts to her words. One of these was a gentleman named 
Jean de Novelompont, and surnamed De Metz, who afterwards 
deposed on oath to these transactions : — " ' Child,' said he, as he 
met her in the street, * what are you doing here ? Must we not 
submit to seeing the King expelled his kingdom, and to ourselves 
becoming English ?' ' I am come here,' said the Maid, i to ask 
of the Sire de Baudricourt to send me before the Dauphin : he 
has no care for me, or for words of mine ; and yet it is needful 
that before Mid-Lent I should stand in the Dauphin's presence, 
should I even in reaching him wear through my feet, and have 
to crawl upon my knees. For no one upon this earth, neither 
King, nor Duke, nor daughter of King of Scots,* no one but 
myself is appointed to recover this realm of France. Yet I 
would more willingly remain to spin by the side of my poor 
mother, for war seems no work for me. But go I must, because 
the Lord my Master so wills it.' * And who is the Lord your 
Master?' said Jean de Metz. 'The King of Heaven,' she 
replied. De Metz declared that her tone of inspiration had con- 
vinced him ; he gave her his hand, and promised her that he 
would, on the faith of a gentleman, and under the conduct of 
God, lead her himself before the King. He asked her when she 
desired to begin her journey : ' To-day rather than to-morrow,' 
replied the heroine." - ]" 



* There was pending at that time a negotiation for a marriage between the 
Dauphin Louis, son of Charles VII., and the daughter of the King of Scots, 
who promised to send fresh succours. — See a note to the ' Collection des 
Memoires,' vol. viii. p. 249. 

f Depositions de Jean de Metz au Proces de Revision. 



JOAN OF ARC. 13 



Another gentleman, Bertrand de Poulengy, who has also left 
a deposition on oath to these facts, and who had been present at 
the first interview between Joan and Baudricourt, became con- 
vinced of her divine commission, and resolved to escort her in 
her journey. It does not clearly appear whether Baudricourt 
had received any answer from the Court of France ; but a 
reluctant assent to the journey was extorted from him by the 
entreaties of De Metz and Poulengy, and by the rising force of 
popular opinion. The Duke of Lorraine himself had by this 
time heard of the fame of Joan ; and sent for her as to one 
endowed with supernatural powers to cure him of a mortal 
disease. But Joan replied, with her usual simplicity of manner, 
that her mission was not to that Prince, nor for such an object, 
and the Duke dismissed her with a gift of four livres. 

This gift was probably the more welcome, since Baudricourt, 
even while giving his consent to her journey, refused to incur 
any cost on behalf of it ; he presented to her nothing but a 
sword, and at parting said to her only these words : " Go then — 
happen what may !" Her uncle, assisted by another country- 
man, had borrowed money to buy a horse for her use, and the 
expenses of the journey were defrayed by Jean de Metz, for 
which, as appears by the Household Books, he was afterwards 
reimbursed by the King. Joan herself, by command of her 
" Voices," as she said, assumed male apparel, and never wore 
any other during the remainder of her expedition. 

At the news that their daughter was already at Vaucouleurs 
and going forward to the wars, Jacques d'Arc and his wife 
hastened in the utmost consternation from their village, but could 
not succeed in withholding her. " I saw them in the town," 
says Jean de Metz ; " they seemed hard-working, honest, Crod- 
fearing people." Joan herself declared in her examinations 
that they had been almost distracted with grief at her departure, 
but that she had since sent back letters to them, and that they 
had forgiven her. It would appear that none of her brothers 
was amongst her companions on this journey, although one of 
them, Pierre d'Arc, soon afterwards joined her in Touraine.* 

* " It has been said that Pierre d'Arc, third brother of Joan, set, out with 
her for France, and that opinion was founded on the fact that Pierre, in a 
petition presented to the Duke of Orleans in 1444, represents himself to have 



14 JOAN OF ARC. 



Joan set forth from Vaucouleurs on the first Sunday in Lent, 
the 13th of February, 1429. Her escort consisted of six persons, 
the Sires de Metz and de Poulengy, with one attendant of each, 
Colet de Vienne, who is styled a King's messenger, and Richard, 
a King's archer. It was no slight enterprise to pass through so 
wide a tract of hostile country, exposed to fall in every moment 
with wandering parties of English or Burgundian soldiery, or 
obliged, in order to avoid them, to ford large rivers, to thread 
extensive forests, and to select unfrequented by-paths at that 
wintry season. The Maid herself took little heed of toil or 
danger ; her chief complaint was that her companions would not 
allow her to stop every morning to hear Mass. They, on the 
contrary, felt from time to time their confidence decline, and 
strange misgivings arise in their minds ; more than once the 
idea occurred to them that after all they might only be conduct- 
ing a mad woman or a sorceress, and they were tempted to hurl 
her down some stone-quarry as they passed, or to leave her 
alone upon the road. Joan, however, happily surmounting these 
dangers, both from her enemies and from her escort, succeeded 
in crossing the Loire at Gien, after which she found herself on 
friendly ground. There she openly announced to all she met 
that she was sent from God to crown the King and to free the 
good city of Orleans. The tidings began to spread, even to 
Orleans itself; and, as drowning men are said to catch at 
straws, so the poor besieged, now hard-pressed and well nigh 
hopeless, eagerly welcomed this last faint gleam for their 
deliverance. 

On earthly succour they could indeed no longer rely. While 
Joan was yet delayed at Vaucouleurs, they had been urging the 

* left his own country to serve in the wars of the King and of Monsieur le 
Due in company with Jehanne la Pucelle, his sister.' But the equivocal con- 
struction of this sentence still leaves the point in doubt whether the young 
man set out at the same time with his sister, or rejoined her at a later period. 
The chronicles and the depositions make no mention of him either at her 
departure, during her journey, or upon her arrival at Chinon. Thus, then, 
there is every reason to believe that he was not with her on her journey." — 
(' Suppl. aux Memoires,' Collection, vol. viii. p. 253.) This conclusion is 
confirmed, and indeed placed beyond doubt, by an original letter from the 
Sire de Laval, in May, 1429, which we shall hereafter have occasion to 
quote ; it mentions Pierre d'Arc as having arrived to join his sister only 
eight days before. 



JOAN OF ARC. 15 



King in repeated embassies to afford them some assistance. It 
was with difficulty that Charles could muster an army of 3000 
men — so dispirited were his soldiers, and so unwilling 1 to serve! — 
whose command he intrusted to his kinsman the Count of 
Clermont. On these troops approaching Orleans they were 
joined by Dunois and another thousand men from the garrison, 
and they resolved to intercept a large convoy of provisions which 
Sir John Fastolf was escorting from Paris. Fastolf had under 
his command scarcely more than 2000 soldiers ; nevertheless, in 
the action which ensued the French were completely routed, and 
left 500 dead upon the field. This engagement was fought on 
the 12th of February, the day before Joan commenced her 
journey from Vaucouleurs, and was called the " Battle of Her- 
rings," because the provisions brought by Fastolf were chiefly 
salt-fish for the use of the English army during Lent. 

To retrieve a disaster so shameful — to raise again spirits sunk 
so low — seemed to require the aid either of a hero or a prophet. 
Charles VII. was certainly not the former. He was then scarcely 
twenty-seven years of age, and had never yet evinced either 
statesmanlike decision or military ardour. Devoted to pleasure, 
he shunned the tumult of even his own cities for a residence, and 
preferred some lonely castle, such as Mehun-sur-Yevre, where 
he had received the tidings of his accession, or Chinon, where at 
this time he held his court, and willingly devolved the cares of 
state upon his council or upon some favourite minister. Such a 
favourite, even when not selected by his own friendship, was 
always retained by his indolence and aversion to change. It had 
already more than once happened, that, on the murder of one 
minion, Charles had quietly accepted a new one from the hands 
of the murderer, and shortly become as devoted to him as to the 
last. He appears to have had the easy and yielding temper of 
our own Charles II. — a temper which mainly proceeds from 
dislike of trouble, but which superficial observers ascribe to kind- 
ness of heart. Yet his affable and graceful manners might often, 
as in the case of Charles II., supply in popular estimation the 
want of more sterling qualities. Once, when giving a splendid 
festival, he asked the opinion upon it of La Hire, one of his 
bravest captains. " I never yet," replied the veteran, " saw a 
kingdom so merrily lost !" Yet it seldom happened that the 



16 JOAN OF ARC. 



state of his exchequer could admit of such a taunt. On another 
occasion it is related, that when the same La Hire came with 
Pothon de Xaintrailles to partake of his good cheer, the High 
Steward could provide nothing for the Royal Banquet beyond 
two chickens and one small piece of mutton ! The story is thus 
told by a quaint old poet, Martial of Paris, in his Vigiles de 
Charles le Septiesme : — 

" Dn jour que La Hire et Pothon 
Le veindre voir pour festoyement 
N'avoit qu'une queue de mouton 
Et deux poulets tant seulement. 
Las ! cela est bien au rebours 
De ces viandes delicieuses, 
Et des mets qu'on a tous les jours, 
En depenses trop somptueuses." 

Charles himself was but slightly moved by such vicissitudes, en- 
joying pleasures when he could, and enduring poverty when he 
must ; but never as yet stirred by his own distresses, or still less 
by his people's sufferings, into any deeds of energy and prowess. 
It is true that at a later period he cast aside his lethargy, and 
shone forth both a valiant general and an able ruler ; but of this 
sudden and remarkable change, which Sismondi fixes about the 
year 1439,* no token appears during the life of Joan of Arc. 

At the news of the battle of Herrings, joined to so many 
previous reverses and discouragements, several of Charles's cour- 
tiers were of opinion that he should leave Orleans to its fate — 
retire with the remains of his forces into the provinces of Dau- 
phine or Languedoc — and maintain himself to the utmost amidst 
their mountainous recesses. Happily for France, at this crisis 
less timid counsels prevailed. The main merit of these has been 
ascribed by some historians, and by every poet, to the far-famed 
Agnes Sorel. 

" It was fortunate for this good prince" says Hume — he means 
Charles VII. — "that, as he lay under the dominion of the fair, the 
women whom he consulted had the spirit to support his sinking resolu- 
tion in this desperate extremity Mary of Anjou, his Queen, a 

* Histoire des Francais, vol. xiii, p. 344. He calls it " a strange pheno- 
menon in the human mind." 



JOAN OF ARC. 17 



princess of great merit and prudence, vehemently opposed this measure. 
.... His mistress, too, the fair Agnes Sorel, seconded all her remon- 
strances, and threatened that if he thus pusillanimously threw away the 
sceptre of France, she would seek in the Court of England a fortune 
more correspondent to her wishes." 

More recently, the great dramatist of Germany has consider- 
ably improved the story, by suppressing the fact that Charles was 
already married, and making him proffer his hand and his crown 

to the lovely Agnes. 

" Zieren wiifde sie 
Den ersten thron der Welt — doch sie verschmaht ihn ; 
Nur meine liebe will sie seyn und heissen."* 

We feel reluctant to assist in dispelling an illusion over which 
the poetry of Schiller has thus thrown the magic tints of genius. 
Yet it is, we fear, as certain as historical records can make it, 
that it was not till the year 1431, after the death of Joan of Arc, 
that Agnes Sorel appeared at Court, or was even seen by Charles. 
It is not improbable that the change in his character after 1439 
may have proceeded from her influence ; such at least was the belief 
of Francis I., when he wrote beneath her picture these lines : — 
" Gentille Agnes, plus d'honneur tu merites 
La cause etant de France recouvrer, 
Que ce que peut dedans un cloitre ouvrer 
Close nonain ou bien devot ermite." 

But even this opinion it would not be easy to confirm from con- 
temporary writers. 

Any romantic legend or popular tradition may be readily 
welcomed by a poet to adorn his tale, without any nice inquiry 
as to its falsehood or its truth. But we may notice, in passing, 
another departure of Schiller from the facts, without any motive 
of poetical beauty to explain and to excuse it. He has trans- 
ferred the position of Chinon to the northern bank of the Loire, 
and made the passage of that river the signal of retreat towards 
the southern provinces,! evidently conceiving the place to be 

* Schiller, < Die Jungfrau von Orleans,' Act i. scene 4. 
f Act i. scene 5. ' Hoflager zu Chinon :' — 

" Wir wollen jenseits der Loire uns ziehn, 
Und der gewalt'gen Hand des Himmels weichen." 

And again, scene 7 : — 

" Sey nicht traurig meine Agnes — 
Auch jenseits der Loire liegt noch ein Frankreich ; 
"Wir gehen in ein glucklicheres Land." ji 

C 



18 JOAN OF ARC. 



Chateau Chinon, a town some fifty leagues distant, in the ancient 
Duchy of Burgundy, in the modern Department of Nievre. 
But no English reader — no English traveller — will thus lightly 
mistake the favourite resort of our own Henry II. — of our own 
Richard Coeur de Lion. Long will they love to trace along the 
valley of the Loire, between Tours and Saumur, on the last of 
the bordering hills, the yet proud though long since forsaken and 
mouldering battlements of Chinon. Ascending the still unbroken 
feudal towers, a glowing and glorious prospect spreads before 
them — a green expanse of groves and vineyards, all blending into 
one — the clear mountain stream of Vienne sparkling and glancing 
through the little town at their feet — while, more in the distance, 
they survey, winding in ample folds, and gemmed with many an 
islet, the wide waters of the Loire. They will seek to recognise, 
amidst the screen of hills which there encircles it, the neighbour- 
ing spire of Fontevrault, where lie interred the Second Llenry and 
his lion-hearted son. They will gaze with fresh delight on the 
ever-living landscape, when they remember the departed great 
who loved to gaze on it before. Nor, amidst these scenes of 
historic glory or of present loveliness, will any national prejudice, 
or passion, or ill-will (may God in his goodness dispel it from 
both nations !), forbid them many a lingering look to that ruined 
hall, — the very one, as tradition tells us, where the Maid of 
Orleans was first received by Charles ! 

It was not, however, to the castle of Chinon that Joan in the 
first instance repaired. She stopped short within a few leagues 
of it, at the village of St. Catherine de Fierbois, and sent forward 
to the King to announce her arrival and her object. The per- 
mission to proceed to an hostelry at Chinon was readily accorded 
her ; not so admission to the King. Two days were spent in 
deliberation by Charles's counsellors. Some of them imagined 
that Joan might be a sorceress and emissary of Satan ; by some 
she was supposed to be a brain-sick enthusiast ; while others 
thought that, in this their utmost need, no means of deliverance, 
however slight or unpromising, should be rashly cast aside. At 
length, as a compromise between all these views, a commission 
was appointed to receive her answers to certain interrogatories. 
Their report proved favourable ; and meanwhile several other 
lords of the Court, whom curiosity led to visit her, came back 
much struck with her natural eloquence, with her high strain of 



JOAN OF ARC. 19 



inspiration, and with her unaffected fervour of piety. No sign of 
imposture appeared in any of her words or deeds ; she passed 
whole days in prayers at the church, and everything in her de- 
meanour bore the stamp of an earnest and undoubting conviction 
which gradually impressed itself on those around her. Charles 
still wavered : after some further delay, however, he appointed an 
hour to receive her. The hour came, and the poor peasant girl 
of Domremy was ushered into the stately hall of Chinon, lighted 
up with fifty torches, and thronged with hundreds of knights and 
nobles. The King had resolved to try her; and for that purpose 
he stood amongst the crowd in plain attire, while some of his 
courtiers magnificently clad held the upper place. He had not 
reflected that, considering the enthusiasm of Joan for his cause, 
she had probably more than once seen a portrait or heard a de- 
scription of his features. Unabashed at the glare of the lights, 
or the gaze of the spectators, the Maid came forward with a firm 
step, singled out the King at the first glance, and bent her knee 
before him with the words — " God give you good life, gentle 
King." " I am not the King ; he is there," said Charles, pointing 
to one of his nobles. " In the name of God," she exclaimed, " it 
is no other but yourself. Most noble Lord Dauphin, I am Joan 
the Maid, sent on behalf of God to aid you and your kingdom ; 
and by his command I announce to you that you shall be crowned 
in the city of Rheims, and shall become his lieutenant in the realm 
of France." " Gentle Lauphin," she added shortly afterwards, 
" why will you not believe me ? 1 tell you that God has pity upon 
you, upon your kingdom, and upon your people ; for St. Louis 
and Charlemagne are on their knees before him, praying for you 
and for them." Charles then drew her aside, and after some time 
passed in earnest conversation, declared to his courtiers that the 
Maid had spoken of secrets known only to himself and to God. 
Several of the ancient chronicles refer mysteriously to this secret 
between the Maid and the King, but Charles afterwards revealed 
it in confidence to the Sire de Boissy, one of his favourites.* 
Joan, it appears, had said to him these words : "I tell you on 
behalf of Messire, that you are the true and real heir of France." 

* De Boissy repeated the story to N. Sala, " pannetier du Dauphin," 
whose MS. account of it is preserved at the Bibliotheque Royale, and quoted 
in the ' Supplement des Memoires.' — Collection, vol. viii. p. 262. 

c 2 



20 JOAN OF ARC. 



Now the King, when alone in his oratory a little time before, 
had offered up a prayer for Divine assistance on condition only 
of his being the rightful heir to the crown. Such a coincidence 
of ideas on so obvious a topic seems very far from supernatural 
or even surprising. 

Nor indeed does it appear that this marvel, if marvel it were, 
had wrought any strong impression on the mind of Charles him- 
self. Within a very few days he had relapsed into his former 
doubts and misgivings as to Joan's pretended mission. In fact, 
it will be found, though not hitherto noticed, yet as applying to 
the whole career of the Maid of Orleans, that the ascendancy 
which she acquired was permanent only with the mass of the 
people or of the army, while those who saw her nearer, and could 
study her more closely, soon felt their faith in her decline. On 
further observation they might, no doubt, admire more and more 
her high strain of patriotism and of piety ; but they found her, 
as was natural, utterly unacquainted with war or politics, and 
guileless as one of her own flock in all worldly affairs. Even an 
old chronicler of the time has these words : " It was a marvellous 
thing- how she could thus demean herself and do so much in these 
wars ; for in all other things she was the most simple shepherdess 
that was ever seen."* But the crowd which gazed at her from a 
distance began to espy something more than human, and to cir- 
culate and credit reports of her miraculous powers. Her journey 
of one hundred and fifty leagues, in great part through a hostile 
country, without being met by a single enemy, or arrested by a 
single obstacle, was urged as a plain proof of Divine support. 
Again, it was pretended that Baudricourt had not given his con- 
sent to the journey until she had announced to him that her 
countrymen were sustaining a defeat even while she spoke, and 
until he had received news of the battle of Herrings, fought on 
that very day — a story, we may observe in passing, which a mere 
comparison of the dates is sufficient to disprove. — Another little 
incident that befell the Maid at Chinon greatly added to her 
reputation. As she was passing by, a soldier had addressed to 
her some ribald jest, for which she had gently reproved him, 
saying that such words ill became any man who might be so near 
his end. It happened that on the same afternoon this soldier 
* Memoirs concerning the Maid (Collection, vol. viii. p. 153). 



JOAN OF ARC. 21 



was drowned in attempting to ford the river, and the reproof of 
Joan was immediately invested by popular apprehension with the 
force of prophecy.* 

To determine the doubts of his council and his own, Charles 
resolved, before he took any decision, to conduct the Maid before 
the University and Parliament at Poitiers. There, accordingly, 
Joan underwent a long and learned cross-examination from seve- 
ral doctors of theology. Nothing could make her swerve from 
her purpose, or vary in her statements. " I know neither A. 
nor B.," she said, " but I am commanded by my Voices, on be- 
half of the King of Heaven, to raise the siege of Orleans, and to 
crown the Dauphin at Rheims." "" And pray what language do 
your Voices speak?" asked one of the doctors, Father Seguin 
from Limoges, and in a strong Limousin accent. " Better than 
yours," she answered quickly. It is to be observed, that she 
never claimed — while the people were so ready to ascribe to her 
— any gift of prophecy or miracle beyond her mission. When 
the doctors asked her for a sign, she replied, that it was not at 
Poitiers but at Orleans that she was appointed to give a sign, and 
that her only sign should be to lead brave men to battle. t 

The general result of these examinations was, however, highly 
favourable to the Maid ; and some friars who had been dispatched 
for that purpose to Vaucouleurs, brought back no less satisfactory 
reports of her early life. Nor did the theological tribunal dis- 
dain a prophecy current among the people, and ascribed to Mer- 
lin ; it purported that the realm of France should be rescued by 
a maiden. Even in the remote village of Domreray some vague 
report of this prediction had been heard : it was appealed to by 
Joan herself at Vaucouleurs ; and was, no doubt, one of the 
causes to kindle her ardent imagination. But on referring to 
the very words of the Latin prophecy, they were considered as 
of striking application to her especial case. The promised he- 
roine was to come e kemoee canuto — and the name of the 
forest around Domremy was Bois Chenu ; she was to ride tri- 
umphant over arci tekentes — and this word seemed to denote 
the English, always renowned in the middle ages for their supe- 
rior skill as bowmen. 

* Deposition of Father Pasquerel at the Trial of Revision, 
f Sismondi, Hist., vol. xiii., p. 1 23. 



22 JOAN OF ARC. 



There was another examination on which great stress was laid 
by the people, and probably by the doctors also ; it being the 
common belief in that age that the devil could form no compact 
with a person wholly undefiled. But the Queen of Sicily, mother 
of Charles's consort, and other chief ladies of the Court, having 
expressed their satisfaction on this point, the doctors no longer 
hesitated to give their answers to the King. They did not, in- 
deed, as Hume supposes, " pronounce the mission of Joan un- 
doubted and supernatural ;" on the contrary, they avoided any 
express opinion on that subject : but they declared that they had 
observed nothing in her but what became a true Christian and 
Catholic ; and that the King, considering the distress of his good 
city of Orleans, might accept her services without sin. 

Orders were forthwith given for her state and equipment. 
She received a suit of knight's armour, but refused any other 
sword but one marked with five crosses, and lying, as she said, 
amidst other arms in the church-vault of St. Catherine at Fier- 
bois.* A messenger was sent accordingly, and the sword — an 
old neglected weapon — was found in the very spot she had de- 
scribed. Immediately the rumour spread abroad — so ready were 
now the people to believe in her supernatural powers — that she 
had never been at Fierbois, and that a Divine inspiration had 
revealed to her the instrument of coming victory. A banner for 
herself to bear had been made under her direction, or rather as 
she declared under the direction of her " Voices :" it was white, 
bestrewn with the fleurs-de-lis of France, and bearing the figure 
of the Saviour in his glory, with the inscription Jhesus Maria. 
A brave and tried knight, Jean, Sire d'Aulon, was appointed her 
esquire ; and a good old friar, Father Pasquerel, her confessor ; 
she had two heralds and two pages. Nearly all these persons 
afterwards appeared as witnesses in the second trial. 

Amidst all these proofs and preparations, two months had 
glided away, and it was past mid-April when the Maid appeared 
before the troops assembling at Blois. She made her entry on 
horseback, and in complete armour, but her head uncovered ; 

* The village of Fierbois still remains, and may be seen from the high- 
road between Paris and Bayonne; but the present church of St. Catherine 
dates no higher than the reign of Francis I.— Guide Pittoresque de France, 
vol. i., Dept. Indre et Loire, p. 15. 



JOAN OF ARC. 23 



and neither her tall and graceful figure, nor the skill with which 
she rode her palfrey and poised her lance, remained unnoticed. 
Her fame had gone forth before her, inspiriting the soldiers with 
the confidence of Divine support, and consoling them under 
their repeated reverses. Numbers who had cast aside their arms 
in despair, buckled them on anew for the cause of Fiance, and 
in the name of the Maid. Nearly six thousand men were thus 
assembled. Charles himself had again withdrawn from the cares 
and toils of royalty to his favourite haunt of Chinon, but in his 
place his most valiant captains, the Mareschal de Boussac, the 
Admiral de Culant, La Hire, the Sires De Retz and De Lore, 
were ready for the field. It had not been clearly defined at 
Court whether Joan was only to cheer and animate, or to command 
and direct the troops ; but the rising enthusiasm of the common 
men at once awarded to her an ascendancy which the chiefs 
could not withstand. She began with reforming- the morals of 
the camp, expelled from it all women of ill fame, and called 
upon the men to prepare for battle by confession and prayer. 
Night and morning Father Pasquerel, bearing aloft her holy 
banner, and followed by herself and by all the priests of Blois, 
walked in procession through the town, chanting hymns, and 
calling sinners to repentance. Many, very many, obeyed the 
unexpected summons. Even La Hire, a rough soldier, bred up 
in camps from his childhood, and seldom speaking without an 
imprecation, yielded to her influence, and went grumbling and 
swearing to Mass !* 

From Blois the Maid, herself untaught in writing and reading, 
dictated a letter to the English captains before Orleans, an- 
nouncing her mission, and commanding them under pain of ven- 
geance from heaven to yield to King Charles all the good cities 
which they held in his realm of France. She afterwards com- 
plained at her trial that this letter had not been written according 
to her dictation, and that while she had said " Restore to the King," 
her scribes had made her say " Restore to the Maid." All her 
letters (one of which, to the Duke of Burgundy, was discovered 
not many years since amongst the archives of Lille) were headed 
with the words Jhesus Maria, and with the sign of the cross. 
So far from paying any regard to this summons, the English 
* De Barante, vol. v. p. 296. 



24 JOAN OF AEC. 



chiefs threatened to burn alive the herald who brought it, as 
coming from a sorceress and ally of Satan. A message from 
Dunois, however, that he would use reprisals on an English 
herald, restrained them. But, notwithstanding their lofty tone 
and affected scorn, a secret feeling of doubt and dismay began 
to pervade the minds of their soldiery, and even their own. 
The fame of the marvellous Maid, of the coming deliverer of 
Orleans, had already reached them, magnified as usual by dis- 
tance, by uncertainty, and by popular tales of miracles. If she 
were indeed, as she pretended, commissioned from on high, how 
dreadful would be the fate of all who ventured to withstand her ! 
But if even their own assertion were well-founded, if indeed she 
wrought by spells and sorcery, even then it seemed no very 
cheering prospect to begin a contest against the powers of 
darkness ! 

The French chiefs at Blois had for some time been collecting 
two convoys of provisions, and their main object was to throw 
them into Orleans, now reduced to the utmost need ; but this 
seemed no easy enterprise in the face of the English army, 
flushed with recent victories, and far superior in numbers to 
their own. Joan, by right of her prophetic mission, insisted that 
the convoy should proceed along the northern bank of the Loire, 
through the district of Beauce, while her colleagues proposed 
the southern bank and the province of Sologne, knowing that 
the bastilles of the English were much weaker and worse guarded 
on that side. Unable to overcome her opposition, and wholly 
distrusting her talents for command when closely viewed, they 
availed themselves of her ignorance of the country, and while 
passing the river at Blois, persuaded her that they were still 
proceeding along the northern shore. After two days' march, 
ascending the last ridge that shut out the view of the beleaguered 
city, Joan was astonished to find the Loire flowing between her 
and the walls, and broke forth into angry reproaches. But these 
soon yielded to the necessity of action. She held a conference 
with Dunois, who had come with boats some way down the 
Loire to receive the convoy. The night was setting in, and a 
storm was raging on high, with the wind directly against them ; 
all the chiefs counselled delay, but the Maid insisted that the 
supplies should be forthwith put on board, promising that the 



JOAN OF ARC. 25 



wind should change ; it really did change, and became favour- 
able after the embarkation, and thus the convoy was enabled to 
reach Orleans in safety, while the English generals kept them- 
selves close to their redoubts, withheld partly by the pelting of 
the storm and the uncertainty of a night attack, partly by a sally 
which the citizens made as a diversion on the side of Beauce, 
and partly by the wish that their soldiers should, before they 
fought, have an opportunity of seeing Joan more nearly, and 
recovering from the panic which distant rumour had inspired. 

Having thus succeeded with regard to the first convoy, the 
French captains had resolved to wend back to Blois and escort 
the second, without themselves entering the city. This resolu- 
tion had been kept secret from Joan, and she showed herself 
much displeased, but "at length agreed to it, provided Father 
Pasquerel and the other priests from Blois stayed with the army 
to maintain its morals. She likewise obtained a promise that 
the next convoy should proceed according to her injunctions 
through Beauce, instead of Sologne. For herself she undertook, 
at the earnest entreaty of Dunois and the citizens, to throw her- 
self into the beleaguered city and partake its fortunes. She 
accordingly made her entry late that same night, the 29th of 
April, accompanied by the brave La Hire and two hundred 
lances, and having embarked close under the English bastille of 
St. Jean le Blanc without any molestation from the awe-struck 
garrison. High beat the hearts of the poor besieged with joy 
and wonder at the midnight appearance of their promised 
deliverer, or rather as they well-nigh deemed their guardian 
angel, heralded by the rolling thunders, with the lightning to 
guide her on her way, unharmed by a victorious enemy, and 
bringing long-forgotten plenty in her train ! All pressed around 
her with, loud acclamations, eager to touch for a moment her 
armour, her holy standard, or the white charger which she rode, 
and believed that they drew a blessing from that touch ! 

Late as was the hour, the Maid of Orleans (so we may already 
term her) repaired first to the cathedral, where the solemn 
service of " Te Deum " was chanted by torch-light. She then 
betook herself to her intended dwelling, which she had chosen 
on careful inquiry, according to her constant practice, as belong- 
ing to a lady amongst the most esteemed and unblemished of the 



26 JOAN OF ARC. 



place. The very house is still shown : it is now No. 35, in the 
Rue du Tabourg, and though the inner apartments have been 
altered, the street-front is believed by antiquaries to be the same 
as in the days of Joan.* A splendid entertainment had been 
prepared for her, but she refused to partake of it, and only 
dipping a piece of bread into some wine and water, laid herself 
down to rest. 

The impression made upon the people of Orleans by the first 
appearance of the Maid was confirmed and strengthened by her 
conduct on the following days. Her beauty of person, her gen- 
tleness of manner, and her purity of life — her prayers, so long 
and so devout — her custom of beginning every sentence with the 
words " In the name of God," after the fashion of the heralds — 
her resolute will and undaunted courage in all that related to 
her mission, compared with her simplicity and humility upon 
any other subject — her zeal to reform as well as to rescue the 
citizens, — all this together would be striking even in our own 
times, and seemed miraculous in theirs. Of speedily raising the 
siege she spoke without doubt or hesitation : her only anxiety 
appeared to be to raise it, if she might, without bloodshed. She 
directed an archer to shoot, attached to his arrow, another letter 
of warning into the English lines, and herself advancing along 
the bridge unto the broken arch, opposite the enemy's fort of 
Tournelles, exhorted them in a loud voice to depart, or they 
should feel disaster and shame. Sir William Gladsdale, whom 
all the French writers call Glacidas, still commanded in this 
quarter. He and his soldiers only answered the Maid with scoffs 
and ribaldry, bidding her go home and keep her cows. She was 
moved to tears at their insulting words. But it soon appeared 
that their derision was affected, and their apprehension real. 
When on the fourth day the new convoy came in sight by way 
of Beauce — when the Maid and La Hire sallied forth with their 
troops to meet and to escort it — not one note of defiance was 
heard, not one man was seen to proceed from the English bas- 
tilles — the long line of waggons, flocks, and herds passed between 
them unmolested — and the spirit of the victors seemed already 
transferred to the vanquished. 

* Trollope's ' Western France, 1 vol. i. p. 80 — 83. He quotes a ' History 
of Orleans,' by E. F. V. Romagnesi. 



JOAN OF AEC. 27 



Thus far the success of the Maid had been gained by the 
terrors of her name alone ; but the moment of conflict was now 
close at hand. That same afternoon a part of the garrison and 
townspeople, flushed with their returning good fortune, made a 
sally in another quarter against the English bastille of St. Loup. 
Joan, after bringing in the convoy, had retired home to rest ; and 
the chiefs, distrustful of her mission, and disliking her interpo- 
sition, sent her no tidings of the fight. But she was summoned 
by a friendly, or, as she believed, a celestial voice. We will 
give the story in the words of M. de Barante, as compiled from 
the depositions of D'Aulon, her esquire, and of Father Pasquerel, 
her chaplain : — 

" The day had been a weary one ; Joan threw herself on her bed 
and tried to sleep, but she was disturbed in mind. All of a sudden she 
called out to the Sire d'Aulon, her esquire, • My council tells me to 
march against the English, but I do not know whether it should be 
against their bastilles or against this Fascot (Fastolf). You must arm 
me.' The Sire dAulon began accordingly to put on her armour. During 
this time she heard a great noise in the street, the cry being that the 
enemy were at that very moment inflicting great hurt upon the French. 
' My God,' she exclaimed, ' the blood of our people is flowing! Why 
was not I wakened sooner ? Oh, that was ill done ! — My arms ! my 
arms ! my horse ! ' — Leaving behind her esquire, who had not yet clad 
himself in armour, she hastened down stairs : and she found her page 
loitering before the door. 'You wicked boy,' she cried, ' why did not 
you come to tell me that the blood of France is being shed ? Quick, 
quick ! My horse ! ' Her horse'Vas brought ; she desired that her banner 
which she had left in the house might be reached out to her from the 
window, and without further delay she set forth, hastening towards the 
Porte Bourgogne, from whence the din of battle seemed to come. When 
she had nearly reached it she beheld carried by her, one of the towns- 
men grievously wounded. ' Alas,' said she, ' never have I seen the 
blood of Frenchmen flow, without my hair standing on end !' " 

Thus darting full speed through the streets, until she reached 
the scene of action, Joan plunged headlong into the thickest of 
the fight. Far from being daunted by the danger when closely 
viewed, she seemed inspirited, nay, almost inspired by its pre- 
sence, as one conscious of support from on high. Waving her 
white banner aloft, and calling aloud to those around her, she 
urged her countrymen to courage like her own : she had found 



28 JOAN OF ARC. 



them beaten back and retreating ; she at once led them on to a 
second onset. For three hours the battle raged fiercely and 
doubtfully at the foot of St. Loup ; but Talbot, who was hasten- 
ing to the rescue, was kept at bay by the Mareschal de Boussac 
and a body of troops ; while those headed by Joan at length 
succeeded in storming the bastille. Scarce any prisoners were 
made : almost every Englishman found within the walls was put 
to the sword, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the Maid ; 
only some few, having found priests' garments within St. Loup's 
church, put them on in this extremity, and these men her piety 
succeeded in preserving. 

Next morning, the 5th of May, was the festival of the Ascen- 
sion ; and as a festival was it kept at Orleans : no new attack 
made upon the English ; and the whole day devoted to public 
prayers and thanksgiving. In these Joan as usual was foremost: 
she earnestly exhorted the soldiers to repentance, and desired that 
none should presume to join her banner without having been first 
to confession. Her bidding seemed to them as a call from 
heaven ; and for the first time, perhaps, their untutored lips were 
heard to pour forth prayers, true and earnest in feeling, though 
not always duly reverent in expression. One such of the brave 
La Hire's is recorded ; it was uttered just before going into 
battle : — " God, I pray thee that thou would est do this day for La 
Hire as much as thou wouldest that La Hire should do for thee, if 
he was God, and thou wast La Hire !" " And," adds the honest 
chronicler from whom we are translating, " he deemed that he 
was praying right well and devoutly !" 

That afternoon the chiefs held a council of war, to which they 
did not ask the presence of Joan ; another proof how little they 
confided in her mission. They determined to proceed next to 
attack the English bastilles on the southern shore, as these were 
much the least strong, and as it was most important to free the 
communication between the city and the friendly province of 
Berri. Joan, when informed of those views, urged again that 
the attack should be on her favourite side of Beauce, but at 
length acquiesced in the decision of the council. 

Next morning, accordingly, the 6th of May, Joan took her 
station before daybreak, with La Hire and other chiefs, in a small 
islet, near the side of Sologne ; from thence again they passed 



JOAN OF ARC- 29 



to the shore in boats, drawing their horses after them by~the 
bridles. Reinforcements followed as fast as the boats could 
carry them ; but, without awaiting them, Joan began the onset 
against the Bastille des Augustins. The English made a resolute 
resistance : to strengthen themselves they withdrew their troops 
from another of their bastilles, St. Jean le Blanc ; and the two 
garrisons thus combining, put the French to flight. Joan was 
borne along by the runaways, but ere long turned round upon 
the enemy ; and at the aspect of this sorceress, as they believed 
her, close upon them, waving aloft her banner (marked, no 
doubt, with magical spells), they on their part receded, and 
sought shelter behind their bulwarks. The French reinforce- 
ments were meanwhile coming up ; and in another assault the 
Bastille des Augustins was taken, the garrison put to the sword, 
and the building set in flames. A body of French troops took 
up their position for the whole night upon the northern shore ; 
but the Maid was induced to return into the city, slightly 
wounded in the foot by a caltrop, and having fasted (for it was 
Friday) during the whole toilsome day. 

By the successes of that day only a single fort on the opposite 
shore, the Bastille des Tournelles, remained in English hands. 
But it was the strongest of all — on one side confronting the 
broken bridge with its massy and towering wall — on the land 
side intrenched by a formidable bulwark — and a deep ditch 
before it, filled with water from the Loire. More than all, it 
was held by the brave Gladsdale and his best battalions. A 
spirit of prudence and of misgiving as to the continued success 
of the Maid became predominant among the French captains. 
They resolved to rest contented with the freedom of communica- 
tion now secured with their own provinces, and to postpone any 
farther attacks until they should receive farther reinforcements. 
But to this resolution it was found impossible to obtain the 
assent of Joan. " You have been to your council," she said, 
"and I have been to mine. Be assured that the council of 
Messire will hold good, and that the council of men will perish." 
What the chiefs dreaded more than her celestial council, she 
had with her the hearts both of soldiery and people. Entreaties 
and arguments to prove the superior advantage of doing nothing 
were urged on her in vain. They did not leave untried even 



30 JOAN OF ARC. 



the slight temptation of a shad-fish for her dinner ! The story- 
is told as follows, in a chronicle of the time : — 

" Whilst the Maid was in thought whether she should go forward, it 
happened that a shad-fish was brought in to her host Jacques Boucher, 
who then said to her, ' Joan, let us eat this shad-fish to dinner before 
you set out' ' In the name of God,' said she, ' it shall not be eaten till 
supper, by which time we will return by way of the bridge and bring 
back with us as prisoner a Goddam, who shall eat his share of it ! ' "* 

This nickname of Goddam — which in more angry times than 
the present we have often heard muttered behind our country- 
men in the streets of Paris— was, we had always fancied, of very- 
modern origin. Till now we could not trace it higher than 
Beaumarchais, in his < Mariage de Figaro/ We now find, 
however, that all future anti- Anglicans may plead for it, if they 
please, the venerable antiquity of four centuries, and the high 
precedent of Joan of Arc. 

Not trusting wholly to persuasion, — or to the shad-fish, — the 
Sire de Gaucourt, governor of the city, with some soldiers, 
stationed himself before the Porte Bourgogne, through which 
Joan would have to pass, and resolutely refused to unbar it. 
" You are an ill man," cried the Maid ; " but whether you will 
or not, the men-at-arms shall come and shall conquer, as they 
have conquered before." The people, and even the soldiers 
themselves, stirred by her vehemence, rushed upon the Sire de 
Gaucourt, threatening to tear him in pieces, and he was con- 
strained to yield. Joan accordingly went forth, followed by an 
eager multitude of townsmen and soldiers, and passed the Loire 
in boats to attack the Tournelles by their bulwark, on the oppo- 
site side. Thus finding the attack inevitable, the French leaders, 
Dunois, La Hire, Gaucourt himself, and a host of others, deter- 
mined to bear their part in it, and embarked like Joan for the 
opposite shore ; and all of them by their conduct in the engage- 
ment most fully proved that their former reluctance to engage 
had not flowed from want of valour. 

From the northern shore the English chiefs, Suffolk, Talbot, 
and Fastolf, had beheld these preparations, but found their own 
troops panic-stricken at " the sorceress." They could not prevail 

* Memoirs concerning the Maid (Collection, vol. viii. p. 173). 



JOAN OF ARC. 31 



upon them either to leave their bulwarks and pass the river for 
the assistance of their comrades, or to attack the city while de- 
prived of its best defenders. Gladsdale was therefore left to his 
own resources. Besides the strength of his fortifications, his 
five hundred men of garrison — knights and esquires — were the 
very flower of the English army ; and thus, however fierce and 
brave the attack, he was able to stand firm against it. He 
poured upon the French a close and well-sustained discharge, 
both from bows and fire-arms ; and whenever they attempted to 
scale the rampart, he overthrew their ladders with hatchets, 
pikes, and mallets. The assault had begun at ten in the morn- 
ing, and the Maid was as usual in the foremost ranks, waving 
her standard, and calling aloud to the soldiers. About noon, 
seeing their ardour slacken, she snatched up a ladder to plant 
against the walls, and began ascending. At that moment an 
arrow passed through her corslet, and deeply pierced her between 
the neck and shoulder ; she fell back into the fosse, and the 
English were already pressing down to make her prisoner : but 
she was rescued by her countrymen, and borne away from the 
scene of action. When laid upon the ground and disarmed, the 
anguish of her wound drew from her some tears ; but she had, 
as she declares, a vision of her two Saints, and from that moment 
felt consoled. With her own hands she pulled out the arrow ; 
she desired the wound to be quickly dressed ; and after some 
moments passed in silent prayer, hastened back to head the 
troops. They had suspended the conflict in her absence, and 
had been disheartened by her wound ; but it had not at all 
diminished their ideas of her supernatural powers ; on the con- 
trary, they immediately discovered that she had more than once 
foretold it, and that the untoward event only proved her skill in 
prophecy. They now, invigorated by their rest, and still more 
by her return, rushed back with fresh ardour to a second onset, 
while the English were struck with surprise at the sudden appear- 
ance in arms of one whom they had so lately beheld hurled 
down, and, as they thought, half dead in the ditch. Several of 
them were even so far bewildered by their own terrors as to see 
in the air the forms of the Archangel Michael, and of Aignan, 
the patron saint of Orleans, mounted on white chargers, and 
fighting on the side of the French. The cooler heads among 



32 JOAN OF AEC. 



the English were no less dismayed at the news that another body 
of the townspeople had advanced to the broken arch, at the 
opposite end of the fort ; that they were keeping up a murderous 
fire, and throwing over huge beams of wood for their passage. 
Sir William Gladsdale, still undaunted, resolved to withdraw 
from the outer bulwarks, and concentrate his force against both 
attacks within the " Tournelles " or towers themselves. He 
was then full in sight of Joan. " Surrender !" she cried out to 
him ; " surrender to the King of Heaven ! Ah, Glacidas, your 
words have foully wronged me ; but I have great pity on your 
soul, and on the souls of your men !" Heedless of this summons, 
the English chief was pursuing his way along the drawbridge ; 
just then a cannon-ball from the French batteries alighting upon 
it broke it asunder, and Gladsdale with his best knights perished 
in the stream. The assailants now pressed into the bastille 
without further resistance : of the garrison, three hundred were 
already slain, and nearly two hundred remained to be prisoners 
of war. 

At the close of this well-fought day, the Maid, according to 
her prediction in the morning, came back to Orleans by the 
bridge. It need scarcely be told how triumphantly she was re- 
ceived : all night rejoicing peals rung from the church-bells ; 
the service of " Te Deum " was chanted in the cathedral ; and 
the soldiers returning from the fight were detained at every step 
by the eager curiosity or the exulting acclamations of their 
brother-townsmen. Far different was the feeling in the English 
lines. That night the Earl of Suffolk summoned Fastolf, 
Talbot, and the other principal officers to council. By the rein- 
forcements of the French, and by their own recent losses, they 
had now become inferior in numbers ; they could read dejection 
impressed on each pale countenance around them ; they knew 
that no hope was left them of taking the city, and that by re- 
maining before it they should only have to undergo repeated, 
and probably, as late experience showed, disastrous attacks in 
their own bastilles. With heavy hearts they resolved to raise 
the siege. Thus, the next morning — Sunday the 8th of May — 
their great forts of London and St. Lawrence, and all their 
other lodgments and redoubts — the fruit of so many toilsome 
months — were beheld in flames ; while the English troops, 



JOAN OF AKC. 33 



drawn up in battle array, advanced towards the city-walls, and 
braved the enemy to combat on an open field. Finding their 
challenge declined, they began their retreat towards Mehun-sur- 
Loire in good order, but, for want of transport, leaving behind 
their sick, their wounded, and their baggage. The garrison and 
townspeople were eager to fight or to follow them ; but Joan 
would not allow the day of rest to be thus profaned. " In the 
name of God," she cried, " let them depart ! and let us go and 
give thanks to God." So saying she led the way to High Mass. 

Thus had the heroine achieved the first part of her promise 

the raising of the siege of Orleans. She had raised it in only 
seven days from her arrival ; and of these seven days, no less 
than three — Sunday the 1st — the Fete de la Cathedrale on the 
3rd — and Ascension-Day the 5th (besides Sunday the 8th) — had 
been by her directions devoted to public prayer. Even to the 
present times, the last anniversary — the day of their deliverance 
— is still held sacred at Orleans. Still on each successive 8th of 
May do the magistrates walk in solemn procession round the 
ancient limits of the city ; the service of " Te Deum " a^ain 
resounds from the cathedral ; and a discourse is delivered from 
the pulpit in honour of the Maid.* 

The second part of Joan's promise — to crown the Kin«- at 
Rheims — still remained. Neither wearied by her toils, nor yet 
elated by her triumphs, she was again within a few days before 
Charles at his Court at Tours — the same untaught and simple 
shepherdess — urging him to confide in her guidance, and enable 
her to complete her mission. Her very words have been re- 
corded in a chronicle, written probably the same year : — 

" When, Joan the Maid was before the King, she kneeled down 
and clasped him by the feet, saying, ' Gentle Dauphin, come and re- 
ceive your noble crown at Rheims ; I am greatly pressed that you 
should go there ; do not doubt that you will there be worthily crowned 
as you ought.' It happened then that the King in his own thoughts, 
and also three or four of the chief men and captains around him, deemed 
it would be right, if not displeasing to the said Joan, to inquire what 
her Voices had said to her. She saw their thoughts and said, ' In the 

* Supplement aux Memoires (Collection, vol. viii. p. 317). It is 
added, " This ceremonial has never been omitted except during the most 
stormy years of the Revolution." 

D 



34 JOAN OF ARC. 



name of God I know right well what you think and desire to ask me of 
the Voice which I heard speak touching your being crowned, and I will 
tell you truly. I had set myself to prayer as I am wont to do, and I 
was complaining because I was not believed in what I had said ; and 
then I heard the Voice declare, " Daughter, go forward ; I will be thy 
helper go!*" and when that Voice comes to me, I feel so joyful as is 
wondrous to tell.' And while speaking these words she raised her eyes 
towards heaven with every sign of gladness and exultation."f 

There is another original document describing the Maid's ap- 
pearance at this time; a letter from a young officer, Guy, Sire 
de Laval, to his mother and grandmother at home. It begins 
in an old-fashioned form : " My very redoubtable ladies and 
mothers;"! and, after some details of his journey, proceeds to 
the following effect : — 

" On the Sunday, then, I set out with the King to go to Selles in 
Berry, four leagues from St. Agnan ; and the King caused the Maid, 
who before this was at Selles, to come forth and meet him. . . . The 
aforesaid Maid appeared fully armed on all points save only her head, 
and held her lance in her hand, and she gave a hearty welcome to my 
brother and me. After we had dismounted at Selles I went to her 
dwelling to see her, upon which she ordered wine to be brought in, 
and told me that right soon she would have me to drink wine at 
Paris. Both in seeing and in hearing her, she seems altogether a being 
from heaven. This same Monday, about the time of vespers, she set 
out again from Selles to go to Romorantin, three leagues forward on 
the enemy's side, having with her the Mareschal de Boussac and much 
folk both men in arms and of the commonalty. There I saw her on 
horseback, clad all in blank armour save her head, with a small axe in 
her hand, and mounted on a great black charger, who, at the door of 
her dwelling, was prancing and rearing, and would not allow her to 
mount, upon which she said, ' Take him to the cross which stands be- 
fore the church near the road.' And after this she mounted without 
further hindrance, for the horse grew as quiet as though he had been 
bound. And then she turned towards the church-door, which was nigh, 
and said in a clear woman's voice, ' Ye priests and churchmen, do ye 
make procession and prayers to God.' She then pursued her journey, 
saying, ' Go forward, go forward!' Her banner was folded and borne 
bv a well-favoured page ; her small axe was in her hand, and a brother 

* " Fille, va, va ; je sera> a ton aide ; va ! " 

f Memoirs concerning the Maid. (Collection, vol. viii. p. 180.) 

j " Mes tres redoutees dames et meres." 



JOAN OF ARC. 



of her's who has joined her eight days since was in her company, also 
clad in blank armour."* 

Notwithstanding the splendid success of the young heroine 
before Orleans, the King did not as yet yield to her entreaties, 
nor undertake the expedition to Rheims. It seemed necessary, 
in the first place, to reduce the other posts which the English 
still held upon the Loire. In this object the Maid took a con- 
spicuous and intrepid share. Setting' off from Selles, the chiefs 
first laid siege to Jargeau, into which the Earl of Suffolk had 
retired with several hundred men. For some days the artillery 
played on both sides ; a breach was effected in the walls ; and on 
the 12th of June the French trumpets sounded the signal to 
assault. Joan was as usual amongst the foremost, with her holy 
banner displayed. She had herself planted a ladder, and was 
ascending the walls, when a huge stone, rolled down from the 
summit, struck her on the helmet, and hurled her headlong into 
the fosse. Immediately rising again, not unhurt but still un- 
daunted, she continued to animate her countrymen : — " Forward ! 
forward ! my friends ! the Lord has delivered them into our 
hands!" The storm was renewed with fresh ardour and com- 
plete success ; the town was taken, and nearly the whole garrison 
put to the sword ; many, notwithstanding Joan's humane en- 
deavours, being slain in cold blood, whenever there was any dis- 
pute for ransom. "j* The fate, of the Earl of Suffolk is a striking 
incident and illustration of the age of chivalry. When closely 
pursued by one of the French officers, he turned round and 
asked him if he were of gentle birth ? " I am," replied the 
officer, whose name was Guillaume Regnault, an esquire of 
Auvergne. " And are you a knight ?" " I am not." " Then I 
will make you one," said Suffolk ; and having first struck Reg- 
nault with his sword, and thus dubbed him as his superior, he 
next surrendered the same sword to him as his captive. 

The fate of Jargeau deterred the garrisons of Beaugency and 
Mehun from resistance ; and Talbot, who had now succeeded to 
the chief command, gathering into one body the remaining 
English troops, began in all haste his retreat towards the Seine. 

* Collection des Memoires, vol. "viii. p. 225. 
f De Barante, vol. v. p. 344. 

d2 



36 JOAN OF ARC. 



In his way he was met by Fastolf with a reinforcement of four 
thousand men. The French chiefs at the same time received a 
like accession of force under the Lord Constable of France, 
Arthur de Richemont. He had become estranged from the 
King- by the cabals of La Trimouille, the reigning minion at 
Court, and Charles had written to forbid his coming ; never- 
theless he still drew near ; and Joan, in a spirit of headlong 
loyalty, proposed to go forth and give him battle. No one 
seemed to relish this proposal ; on the contrary, it excited general 
complaints. Several officers muttered that they were friends of 
the Constable, and in case of need should prefer him to all the 
maids in the kingdom.* At length Joan herself was made to 
comprehend the importance of shunning civil discord, and 
combining against the common enemy ; she agreed to welcome 
the Constable on his taking an oath of loyalty, and to use her 
intercession with the King on his behalf. The combined forces 
then pushed forward, eager to overtake the English army in its 
retreat. On the 18th of June they came up with it near the 
village of Patay. So altered were the English within the last 
few weeks — so awestruck at the idea of supernatural power being 
wielded against them, that they scarcely stood firm a moment. 
The battle was decided almost as soon as begun. Even the 
brave Fastolf betook himself to flight at the first fire, in punish- 
ment for which the Order of the Garter was afterwards taken 
from him. Talbot disdained to show his back to an enemy ; he 
dismounted to fight on foot amongst the foremost, but being left 
almost alone, he was speedily made prisoner, together with Lord 
Scales ; while upwards of two thousand men were killed in the 
pursuit. 

The victory at Patay gave fresh weight to Joan's entreaties 
that the King would set forth to be crowned at Pheims. Such 
an expedition was still overcast by doubts and perils. Rheims 
itself, and every other city on the way, was in the hands of ene- 
mies ; and a superior force, either of English from the left, or 
of Burgundians from the right, might assail the advancing army. 
To add to these difficulties, Charles himself, at that period of his 
life, was far from disposed to personal exertion ; nevertheless, he 
could not withstand the solicitations of the " inspired " Maid, and 
* De Barante, vol. v., p. 347. 



JOAN OF ARC. 37 



the wish of the victorious troops. Collecting ten or twelve 
thousand men at Gien, he marched from the valley of the Loire, 
accompanied by Joan herself, by his bravest captains, and by his 
wisest counsellors. They first appeared before the city of 
Auxerre, which shut its gates, but consented, on a payment of 
money, to furnish a supply of provisions. Their next point was 
Troyes ; but here they found the city held by five or six hundred 
Burgundian soldiers, and refusing all terms of treaty. Nothing 
remained but a siege, and for this the King wanted both time 
and means. He had with him neither mining tools nor artillerv, 
nor stores of provisions, and the soldiers subsisted only by pluck- 
ing the ears of corn and the half-ripened beans from the fields. 
Several days had passed, and no progress been made. At length 
a council was held, when the Chancellor and nearly all the other 
chief men pressed for a retreat to the Loire. While they were 
still deliberating, a knock was heard at the door, and the Maid 
of Orleans came in ; she first asked the King whether she should 
be believed in what she was about to say. He coldly answered 
that she should, provided she said things that were reasonable 
and profitable. " The city is yours !" she then exclaimed, " if 
you will but remain before it two days longer !" So confident 
seemed her present prediction — such good results had followed 
the past, — that the council agreed to make a further trial, and 
postpone their intended retreat. Without delay, and eager to 
make good her words, Joan sprung on horseback, and directed 
all the men-at-arms she met — gentle or simple alike — to exert 
themselves in heaping together faggots and other wood-work, 
and preparing what in the military language of that day is called 
taudis et approches. The townsmen of Troyes, assembling on 
their ramparts, gazed on her while thus employed, and bethought 
them of her mighty deeds at Orleans, already magnified into the 
miraculous by popular report. The more credulous of these 
gazers even declared that they could see a swarm of white but- 
terflies hovering above her standard. The more loyal began to 
recollect that they were Frenchmen, not Burgundians — that 
Charles was their true liege lord — that they should be rebels to 
resist him. Under the influence of these various feelings, which 
the garrison could not venture to resist, they sent out to offer 
some terms of capitulation ; the King, as may be supposed, made 



38 JOAN OF ARC. 



no objection to any ; and next day he was joyfully received 
within the gates. 

The newly-roused loyalty of Troyes spread rapidly, like every 
popular impulse, to Chalons and to Rheims, where the inhabit- 
ants rising, as if in concert, expelled the Burgundian garrisons, 
and proclaimed the rightful King. On the 16th of July, Charles, 
without having encountered a single enemy, made a triumphal 
entry into the city of Rheims, amidst loud cries of" Noel!" 
which was then the usual acclamation of joy in France at the 
King's arrival. Next day that stately cathedral — which even 
yet proudly towers above the ruins of time or of revolutions — 
saw his brow encircled with the crown of his forefathers, and 
anointed from the Sainte Ampoule, the cruse of holy oil, which, 
according to the Romish legend, had been sent by a dove from 
Heaven to the Royal convert, Clovis. The people looked on 
with wonder and with awe. Thus had really come to pass the 
fantastic visions that floated before the eyes of the poor shepherd- 
girl of Domremy ! Thus did she perform her two-fold promise 
to the King within three months from the day when she first 
appeared in arms at Blois ! During the coronation of her sove- 
reign — so long the aim of her thoughts and prayers, and reserved 
to be at length achieved by her own prowess — the Maid stood 
before the high altar by the side of the King, with her banner 
unfurled in her hand. " Why was your banner thus honoured 
beyond all other banners?" she was asked at her trial. " It had 
shared the danger," she answered ; " it had a right to share the 
glory." 

The holy rites having been performed, the Maid knelt down 
before the newly-crowned monarch, her eyes streaming with 
tears. " Gentle King," she said, " now is fulfilled the pleasure 
of God, who willed that you should come to Rheims and be 
anointed, showing that you are the true King, and he to whom 
the kingdom should belong."' She now regarded her mission as 
accomplished, and her inspiration as fled. " I wish," she said,, 
" that the gentle King would allow me to return towards my 
father and mother, keep my flocks and herds as before, and do- 
all things as I was wont to do." 

" End with many tears implored !' 
'Tis the sound of home restored ! 



JOAN OF ARC. 39 



And as mounts the angel show, 

Gliding with them she would go, 

But, again to stoop below, 

And, returned to green Lorraine, 

Be a shepherd child again !"* 
This feeling in the mind of Joan was no doubt strengthened by 
the unexpected sight of Laxart and Jacques d'Arc — her uncle 
and her father — who had come to Rheims to take part in her 
triumph, and had mingled in the throng of spectators. 

It is worthy of note that among the ancient records at Rheims 
is, or was, the account for the entertainment of Jacques d'Arc, 
which was defrayed by the King. It appears that he lodged at 
an inn called the Striped Ass or Zebra {l* Ane Raye), kept by 
the widow Alix Moriau, and that the bill amounted to twenty-four 
livres Parisis.^ That house still remains, and still is used as an 
inn, but the name has been changed to La Maison Rouge,% Such 
little details give a striking air of reality to the romantic story. 

The Maid's request for leave to forsake the wars and return 
to her village-home was by no means favourably received. The 
King and his captains, even whilst themselves distrusting her 
heavenly mission or supernatural powers, had seen how the belief 
in them had wrought upon the soldiery and the people. They 
foresaw that in losing her they should lose their best ally. 
They spared no exertions, no entreaties, to make her forego her 
thoughts of home, and continue with the army — and they finally 
prevailed. . From this time forward it has been observed that 
Joan still displayed the same courage in battle, and the same 
constancy in pain ; that she seemed animated with the same con- 
fidence in the good cause of France, but that she no longer seemed 
to feel the same persuasion that she was acting at the command 
and under the guidance of heaven. § 

Nor can the King be accused at this period of any want of 
gratitude to his female champion. He was anxious to acknow- 
ledge her services ; but she refused all rewards for herself or for 
her family, and only asked the favour that her birthplace might 
hereafter be free from any kind of impost. This privilege so 

* Joan of Arc, Sterling's Poems, p. 236. 
i ' Supplement aux Memoires,' Collect., vol. viii., p. 276. 
\ Costello's 'Pilgrimage to Auvergne, 1841,' vol. i. p. 137. 
§ Sismondi, vol. xiii. p. 145. 



40 JOAN OF ARC. 



honourable both to the giver and receiver, was granted by the 
King in an Ordinance dated July 31, 1429, and confirmed by 
another in 1459. It continued in force for more than three 
centuries. The registers of taxes for the Election of Chaumont 
used, until the Revolution, to bear opposite the name of every 
village the sum to be received from it ; but when they came to 
the article Domhemy, they always added Neant, A cause de 

EA PUCEEEE. 

The good example set by Troyes and Rheims in opening their 
gates to the King, was ere long followed by Laon, Soissons, Com- 
piegne, Beauvais, and other places of importance. Step by step 
the King was drawing nearer to the walls of Paris, while the 
English, although they had lately received some reinforcements 
from home, were not able to keep the field against him. During 
this march, however, an ill omen was noticed — the sword of the 
Maid broke asunder — how and wherefore we will leave to M. de 
Barante to tell : — 



" Victory had made the French arrogant and thoughtless, so that 
they resigned themselves to every kind of licentiousness ; nothing could 
restrain them. In this the Maid was not hearkened 'to. Her wrath 
was so far kindled that one day as she met some men at arms, who were 
making merry with a woman of loose life, she began to beat them with 
the flat of her sword so hard that the weapon broke. This was the 
sword found in the church of Fierbois, and which had just achieved such 
noble deeds. The loss of it was a grief to every body, and even to the 
King. He said to Joan, ' You ought to have taken a good stout stick 
and struck the men with that, instead of risking this sword, which has 
come to you by help from heaven, as you say.' " 

The King and his army continued advancing towards Paris ; 
and at length, from the heights of St. Denis, the domes and 
spires of his ancient capital rose in sight before him. It seemed 
an auspicious time for his coming, the Duke of Bedford having 
been summoned away to quell some disturbances in Normandy. 
An assault was given accordingly in the month of September, 
1429, and on the same ground where the Rue Traversiere now 
stands. The Maid had been eager for it, and made a prediction 
or promise to the soldiers that in the ensuing night they should 
sleep within the city walls. But the King's military ardour had 
already cooled ; and he could not be prevailed upon to approach 



JOAN OF AKC. 41 



the scene of action nearer than St. Denis. Of his officers, many 
were downcast at his absence, and some jealous of the high re- 
nown which Joan had gained. Thus her efforts were but feebly- 
seconded on this occasion. She easily led the troops across the 
first ditch of the city ; but she found the second broad, deep, and 
full of water ; and while she was sounding it to and fro with her 
lance, to discover where it might be shallowest, she was grievously 
wounded by an arrow from the walls, and her standard-bearer was 
killed by her side. Still, however, she would not give the signal 
of retreat ; and from the ground, where she lay stretched and 
helpless on the reverse of the first fosse, she continued to urge 
on the soldiers, and to call for faggots and fascines, resisting all 
entreaties to withdraw until the evening, when the Duke of 
Alencon having come up and shown her how ill the attack had 
prospered, she allowed herself to be borne away. 

Dispirited at this failure, and viewing it as an admonition from 
Heaven, the Maid consecrated her armour to God before the 
tomb of St. Denis, and determined to retire from the wars. Re- 
newed entreaties on the part of the chiefs, judiciously mingled 
with praises of her past exertions, again prevailed over her own 
judgment, and she consented to follow the King's fortunes. 
Charles himself, already sighing for the peaceful shades of 
Chinon, and for his customary life of pleasure, eagerly seized the 
late repulse as a pretext for retreat. He led back the troops by 
rapid marches across the Loire, and dispersed them in winter- 
quarters, at the very time when the absence of the Duke of 
Bedford seemed to invite him to fresh exertions, when Amiens, 
Abbeville, St. Quentin, and other important towns in the north, 
were only awaiting his approach to throw open their gates to him. 
His conduct on this occasion has in general been glossed over by 
French historians from respect to his high deeds in after life, but 
M. de Sismondi has treated it with just severity. " It is pro- 
bable," says he, " that, but for the King's supineness, he might 
on the first assault have made himself master of his capital . „ . and 
his sudden retreat to Chinon everywhere depressed and deadened 
the enthusiasm of his people. The unwarlike citizens who, 
throughout the towns of Champagne, of Picardy, and of the Isle 
of France, were now rising or conspiring to throw off the English 
yoke, well knew that if they failed there would be no mercy for 



42 JOAN OF ARC. 

them, and that they would perish by the hangman's hands, yet 
they boldly exposed themselves in order to replace their King 
on his throne ; and this King, far from imitating their generosity, 
could not even bring himself to bear the hardships of a camp or 
the toils of business for more than two months and a-half ; he 
would not any longer consent to forego his festivals, his dances, 
or his other less innocent delights."* 

The winter was passed by Joan chiefly at the King's Court in 
Bourges, or Mehun-sur-Yevre, in the neighbourhood of Bourges. 
In December the King granted letters-patent of nobility to her 
family and herself, with the privilege of bearing the Lily of 
France for their arms.f At the same inclement season she again 
distinguished herself in assaults upon the citadels of St. Pierre 
Le Moutier, and La Charite. 

But the most singular event of this period was the appearance 
at Court of another holy woman, declaring herself, like Joan, to 
be inspired. Her name was Catherine, and she came from La 
Rochelle with a mission, she said, not of war but of wealth. For 
her object was by preaching to the people to persuade them to 
offer their money to the King, and she alleged that she was able 
to distinguish those who kept their treasures concealed. She too, 
like the Maid of Orleans, had her visions ; often seeing in them, 
as she stated, a white lady clothed all in gold — the dress being 
certainly no unfit emblem of the mission ! To a King with 
craving courtiers and an empty exchequer, such a mission couid 
not be otherwise than welcome. But we may remark that Joan 
from the first entertained a strong distrust — a professional jea- 
lousy it might perhaps be called — of her sister-prophetess. She 
asked to be shown the white lady. Catherine replied that her 
visions came only in the hours of darkness, and that Joan might 
be a witness to them by remaining with her at that time. All 
night, accordingly, the Maid of Orleans watched by her side, in 
fruitless expectation of the promised sight; but having fallen 
asleep towards morning, Catherine declared that the white lady 
had appeared in that very interval. Determined not to be baffled 
in this manner, Joan lay down to sleep the whole of the next 

* Sismondi, vol. xiii. p. 152 — 1G2. 

t These letters- patent are printed in M. Peti tot's ' Collection,' vol. viii. 
p. 333. 



JOAN OF AKC. 43 



day, that she might be sure to be wakeful at night ; and wakeful 
she was accordingly, always urging Catherine with the question — 
"Is she coming soon? 1 ' and always answered — " Soon, soon. 
But nothing appeared. 

The argument drawn from these facts did not appear altogether 
conclusive, even in that superstitious age, since Joan was not able, 
any more than Catherine, to display her visions to others. Several 
persons stated this objection to Joan herself; but she readily re- 
plied that they were not sufficiently righteous and holy to see 
what she had seen. Nevertheless, to end this controversy, she 
declared that she had consulted her Saints, Catherine and Mar- 
garet, who had told her that there was nothing but folly and 
falsehood in the woman of La Rochelle. She therefore strongly 
counselled the King to send the pretended prophetess home " to 
keep her household and to nurse her children." It does not 
appear how far either the King or the lady followed this good 
advice. The further fortunes of Catherine are nowhere to be 
found recorded.* 

At the return of spring, Charles, still preferring pleasure to 
glory, could not be induced to take the field in person. But, like 
the captain " who fled full soon," in Mr. Canning's ballad, "he 
bade the rest keep fighting !" His troops passed the Loire, and 
marched into the northern provinces, but in diminished numbers, 
with no prince of the blood or chief of high name to lead them, 
and aiming apparently at no object of importance.! In some 
desultory skirmishes the Maid displayed her wonted valour, and 
struck the enemy with the same terror as before. The Duke of 
Gloucester found it necessary to issue a proclamation to reassure 
his troops : it is dated May 3, 1430, and is still preserved, de- 
noting; in its verv title the barbarous Latin of the middle ages : — 
Contra capitaneos et soldarios ter giver santes, incantationibus 
Puellce terrificatos. 

* The story of Catherine is circumstantially told by De Barante, vol. vi. 
p. 69—71. 

f " Charles VII., far from taking the command of his army in person, did 
not even send to it one of the princes of the blood, or one of the great lords 
of his court — nor would he allow the Connetable to go thither. In that 
army, therefore, the Maid found herself associated only with brutal adven- 
turers, ill provided either with money or with stores of war, and unwilling 
to submit to any discipline." — Sismondi, vol. xiii. p. 159. 



44 JOAN OF ARC. 



On leaving Picardy in the preceding year, Charles had con- 
fided his newly-acquired fortress of Compiegne to the charge of 
Guillaume de Flavy, a captain of tried bravery, but, even beyond 
his compeers in that age, harsh and pitiless.* He was now be- 
sieged by the Duke of Burgundy, at the head of a powerful army. 
Joan, hearing of his danger, courageously resolved to share his 
fortunes, and threw herself into the place on the 24th of May, 
accompanied by Xaintrailles, Chabannes, Yalperga, and other 
knights of renown. The very evening of her arrival she headed 
the garrison in a sally on the side of the bridge across the Oise. 
She found the Burgundians scattered and unprepared ; twice she 
drove them from their entrenchments, but seeing their numbers 
increase every moment, she gave the signal to retreat, herself 
maintaining the post of honour, the last of the rear-guard. Never 
had she shown greater intrepidity : but as she approached the 
town-gate she found it partly closed, so that but few could press 
in together ; confusion spread amongst her friends, less eager to 
succour her than to save themselves, and she found herself sur- 
rounded by her enemies. Still she made those before her recoil, 
and might have effected her retreat, when an archer from 
Picardy, coming up from behind, seized her by her coat of crim- 
son velvet, and drew her from her horse to the ground. She 
struggled to rise again, and reached the outer fosse : there, how- 
ever, she was overpowered, and compelled to surrender to Lionel, 
a bastard of Vendone,j" and a soldier in the company of John of 
Luxemburg. The battlements of Compiegne have long since 
mouldered away ; choked by the fallen fragments, the fosse is 
once more level with the plain ; even the old bridge has been 
replaced by another higher up the stream — yet, amidst all these 
manifold changes, the precise spot of the catastrophe — we gazed 
on it but a few weeks since — is still pointed out by popular 
tradition to the passing stranger. 

The news of Joan's captivity struck the English and their 

* " Flavy was a brave man in war, but a tyrant, and doing the 
most horrible tyrannies that are possible, as seizing girls, in spite of every 
remonstrance, and putting violence upon them, putting men to death without 
mercy, and breaking them upon a wheel." — Memoires de Duclercq. 

f Not Vendome, as most writers have supposed. The place meant is now 
called Wandomme, in the Departement du Pas de Calais. — Quicherat, 
' Proces de Jeanne d'Arc,' vol. i. p. 13. 



JOAN OF AEC. 45 



partisans with a joy proportioned to their former terrors. The 
service of " Te Deum " was celebrated at Paris, by order of the 
Duke of Bedford, and in token of general thanksgiving. Mean- 
while the dejection of the French soldiery was not unmingled 
with whispered suspicions that their officers— and especially Guil- 
laume de Flavy — had knowingly and willingly exposed her to 
danger, from envy of her superior renown. For a long time 
there was no positive proof against Flavy : but at length he was 
murdered by his own wife, who, when put upon her trial, pleaded 
and proved that he had resolved to betray Joan of Arc to the 
enemy ; and this defence, though wholly irrelevant to the 
question at issue, was in that barbarous age admitted by the 
judges.* 

The captive heroine was first conducted to the quarters of 
John of Luxemburg, and transferred in succession to the prisons 
of Beaurevoir, Arras, and Le Crotoy, at the mouth of the 
Somme. She made two intrepid attempts at escape. Once she 
had broken a passage through the wall, but was arrested on her 
way, and still more closely confined. Another time she threw 
herself headlong from the summit of her prison tower, but was 
taken up senseless on the ground. She afterwards declared, in 
her examination, that her " Voices " had dissuaded her from this 
attempt, but had consoled her under its failure. 

The English were however impatient to hold the prisoner in 
their own hands ; and in the month of November, 1430, she was 
purchased from John of Luxemburg for a sum of ten thousand 
livres. Her cruel treatment in her new captivity is well described 
by M. de Barante : — 

" Joan was taken to Rouen, where were then the young King Henry 
and all the chiefs of the English. She was led into the great tower of 
the castle, an iron cage was made for her, and her feet were secured by 
a chain. The English archers who guarded her treated her with gross 
contumely, and more than once attempted violence upon her. Nor were 
they merely common soldiers who showed themselves cruel and violent 
towards her. The Sire de Luxembourg, whose prisoner she had been, 
happening to pass through Rouen, went to see her in her prison, accom- 
panied by the Earl of Warwick and the Earl of StafFord.f ' Joan,' said 

* Supplement aux Memoires (Collection, vol. viii. p. 287). 
f Not Strafford, as written by M. de Barante. 



46 JOAN OF ARC. 



he, in jest, ' I am come to put you to ransom, but you will have to promise 
never again to bear arms against us.' ' Ah I mon Dieu, you are laughing 
at me,' said she ; ' you have neither the will nor the power to ransom me. 
I know well that the English will cause me to die, thinking that after 
my death they will win back the kingdom of France : but even were 
they a hundred thousand Goddams more than they are, they shall never 
have this kingdom.' Incensed at these words, the Earl of Stafford drew 
his dagger to strike her, but was prevented by the Earl of Warwick." 

The forebodings of the unhappy woman were but too true ; 
her doom was indeed already sealed. Had she been put to death 
as a prisoner of war, the act, however repugnant to every dictate 
of justice and humanity, would not have been without precedent 
or palliation, according to the manners of that age. Thus, as we 
have seen, the English captives at Jargeau had been deliberately 
put to the sword after their surrender, to avert some disputes as 
to their ransom. Thus also there is still extant a letter from an 
English admiral, Winnington, stating his determination to kill 
or drown the crews of one hundred merchantmen which he had 
taken, unless the council should deem it better to preserve their 
lives.* Nay, Joan herself was charged, although unjustly, with 
having sanctioned this practice in the case of Franquet, a Bur- 
gundian freebooter, who fell into her hands, and was hanged 
shortly before her own captivity. But the conduct of Joan's 
enemies has not even the wretched excuse which such past inhu- 
manities might supply. Their object was not only to wreak 
their vengeance upon the Maid for their former losses, but to 
discredit her in popular opinion, to brand her (we quote the very 
words of Bedford) as " a disciple and lymbe of the fiende that 
used false enchauntments and sorcerie,""j" and to lower and taint 
the cause of Charles VII. by connecting it with such unhallowed 
means. They therefore renounced any rights of war which they 
possessed over her as their prisoner, to claim those of sovereignty 
and jurisdiction as their subject, which she never had been, and 
resolved to try her before an ecclesiastical tribunal on the charge 
of witchcraft. They found a fitting tool for their purpose in 
Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, who was wholly devoted 

* Fenn's ' Collection of Letters,' vol. i. p. 213. Dr. Lingard has pointed 
out this passage in his ' History of England.' 
f Rymer's ' Fcedera,' vol. x. p. 408. 



JOAN OF ARC. 47 



to their interest, and who presented a petition for the trial on the 
frivolous pretext that she had been made prisoner within his 
diocese. The University of Paris was so far misled by party- 
views as to join in the same request. The Bishop himself was 
appointed the first judge ; the second was Jean Lemaitre, vicar- 
general of the Inquisition ; and the office of public advocate or 
accuser devolved upon Estivet, a canon of Beauvais. The tri- 
bunal thus formed, and directed to hold its sittings at Rouen, 
was also attended by nearly one hundred doctors of theology, 
who had not, like the Bishop and vicar-general, votes in the de- 
cision, but who gave their counsel and assistance when required, 
under the title of assessors. 

Unjustifiable as this trial appears in its general scope and de- 
sign, it was further darkened in its progress by many acts of 
fraud and violence, and an evident predetermination to condemn. 
A private investigation, similar to those at Poitiers, and with 
the same result, having been appointed, the Duke of Bedford is 
said to have concealed himself in a neighbouring apartment, and 
looked on through a rent in the wall. A priest, named Nicolas 
l'Oiseleur, was instructed to enter the prison of Joan, to repre- 
sent himself as her countryman from Lorraine, and as a sufferer 
in the cause of King Charles ; thus, it was hoped, gaining upon 
her confidence, giving her false counsels, and betraying her 
under the seal of confession into some unguarded disclosures. 
A burgher of Rouen was sent to Domremy to gather some ac- 
counts of her early life ; but, as these proved uniformly favoura- 
ble, they were suppressed at the trial. In like manner, many 
answers tending to her vindication were garbled or omitted in 
the written reports. She was allowed neither counsel nor adviser. 
In short, every artifice was used to entrap, every threat to over- 
awe, an untaught and helpless girl. 

It will, we trust, be acknowledged that, in our statement of 
this trial, we have neither denied nor palliated its evil deeds. 
But when we find them urged by some French writers, even at 
the present day, as an eternal blot upon the English name — as a 
still subsisting cause of national resentment — we may perhaps be 
allowed to observe, in self-defence, that the worst wrongs of 
Joan were dealt upon her by the hands of her own countrymen. 
Her most bitter enemy, the Bishop of Beauvais, was a French- 



48 JOAN OF ARC. 

man ; so was his colleague, the vicar-general of the Inquisition ; 
so were both the malignant Estivet and the perfidious L'Oiseleur 
— the judges, the accuser, and the spy ! Even after this large 
deduction, there will still remain a heavy responsibility against 
the English authorities — both civil and religious — against the 
Duke of Bedford and the Cardinal of Winchester. 

On the 21st of February, 1431, Joan was brought for the first 
time before her judges. She underwent, nearly on successive 
days, fifteen examinations. The scene was the castle-chapel at 
Rouen ; and she appeared clad, as of yore, in military attire, but 
loaded with chains. Undepressed, either by her fallen fortunes 
or by her long and cruel captivity, she displayed in her answers 
the same courageous spirit with which she had defended Orleans 
and stormed Jargeau. Nor was it courage only ; her plain and 
clear good sense often seemed to retrieve her want of education, 
and to pierce through the subtle wiles and artifices elaborately 
prepared to ensnare her. Thus, for example, she was asked 
whether she knew herself to be in the grace of God ? Had she 
answered in the affirmative, then arrogance and presumption 
would forthwith have been charged upon her ; if in the negative, 
she would have been treated as guilty by her own confession. 
" It is a great matter," she said, "to reply to such a question." 
" So great a matter," interposed one of the assessors, touched 
with pity — his name deserves to be recorded, it was Jean Fabry 
— " that the prisoner is not bound in law to answer it." " You 
had better be silent," said the Bishop of Beauvais fiercely to 
Fabry ; and he repeated the question to Joan. " If I am not in 
the grace of God," she said, " I pray God that it may be vouch- 
safed to me ; if I am, I pray God that I may be preserved in it." 

Thus, again, she was asked whether the Saints of her visions, 
Margaret and Catherine, hated the English nation? If the 
answer was that they did, such partiality would ill beseem the 
glorified spirits of heaven, and the imputation of it might be 
punished as blasphemy : but if Joan should reply that they did 
not, the retort was ready ; — " Why then did they send you forth 
to fight against us? " She answered, " They love whatever God 
loves, and hate whatever he hates." " Does God then hate the 
English ? " pursued the inexorable Bishop of Beauvais. " Whe- 
ther God may love or may hate the English, I know not ; but I 



JOAN OF ARC. 49 



know that they shall be driven forth from this realm by the King 
of France — all but those who shall die in the field." 

The two points on which Joan's enemies and judges (the terms 
are here synonymous) mainly relied were — first, the " Tree of 
the Fairies," near Domremy ; and, secondly, the banner borne by 
herself in battle. Both of these it was attempted to connect with 
evil spirits or magical spells. As to the first, Joan replied, 
clearly and simply, that she had often been round the tree in 
procession with the other maidens of the village, but had never 
beheld any of her visions at that spot. With regard to the banner, 
she declared that she had assumed it in battle on purpose to spare 
the lance and the sword ; that she wished not to kill any one 
with her own hand, and that she never had. But she was 
closely pressed with many other questions : — 

" When you first took this banner, did you ask whether it would 
make you victorious in every battle?" " The Voices," answered 
she, " told me to take it without fear, and that God would help me." 

" Which gave the most help — you to the banner, or the banner to 
you?" "Whether victory came from the banner or from me, it be- 
longed to our Lord alone." 

11 Was the hope of victory founded on the banner or on yourself?" 
" It was founded on God, and on nought besides." 

" If another person had borne it, would the same success have fol- 
lowed ?" "I cannot tell ; I refer myself to God." 

" Why were you chosen sooner than another ?" " It was the plea- 
sure of God that thus a simple maid should put the foes of the King to 
flight." 

si Were not you wont to say, to encourage the soldiers, that all the 
standards made in semblance of your own would ,'be fortunate ?" "I 
used to say to them, ; Rush in boldly among the English ;' and then I 
used to rush in myself." 

The clearness and precision of her replies on these points 
stand forth in strange contrast to the vague and contradictory 
accounts which she gives of her first interview with the King. 
On this topic she at first refuses to answer altogether, saying 
that she is forbidden by her Voices. But afterwards she drops 
mysterious hints of an angel bringing a crown to Charles from 
heaven ; sometimes saying that the King alone had beheld this 
vision, and sometimes that it had been before many witnesses. 
In other examinations she declares that she herself was this 

E 



50 JOAN OF ARC. 



angel ; in others, again, she appears to confound the imaginary 
crown of the vision with the real one at Rheims.* In short, 
this was clearly one main-spring of her enthusiasm, or a morbid 
point in her mind where judgment and memory had been over- 
powered by imagination. 

No proof or presumption, however, to confirm the charges of 
sorcery could be deduced from her own examinations or from 
any other. So plain and candid had been the general tenor of 
her answers, that it being referred to the assessors whether or not 
she should be put to the rack, in hopes of extorting further reve- 
lations, only two were found to vote in favour of this atrocious 
proposal, and of these two one was the traitor-priest L'Oiseleur ! 
It is said that one of our countrymen present at the trial was so 
much struck with the evident good faith of her replies, that he 
could not forbear exclaiming, " A worthy woman — if she were 
only English I"! 

Her judges, however, heedless of her innocence, or perhaps 
only the more inflamed by it, drew up twelve articles of accu- 
sation upon the grounds of sorcery and heresy, which articles 
were eagerly confirmed by the University of Paris. On the 
24th of May, 1431 — the very day on which Joaji had been taken 
prisoner the year before — she was led to the churchyard before 
Saint Ouen, where two scaffolds had been raised : on the one 
stood the Cardinal of Winchester, the Bishop of Beauvais, and 
several prelates ; the other was designed for the Maid, and for a 
preacher named Erard. The preacher then began his sermon, 
which was filled with the most vehement invectives against 
herself; these she bore with perfect patience, but when he came 
to the words, " Your King, that heretic and that schismatic," 
she could not forbear exclaiming aloud, " Speak of me, but do 

not speak of the King ; he is a good Christian By my 

faith, sir, I can swear to you, as my life shall answer for it, that 
he is the noblest of all Christians, and not such as you say." 
The Bishop of Beauvais, much incensed, directed the guards to 
stop her voice, and the preacher proceeded. At his conclusion, 

* De Barante, vol. vi. p. 121 ; and Quicherat, * Proces de Jeanne d'Arc,' 
vol. i. passim. This is a recent and well-edited collection of the original 
documents referring to the trial. 

f " C'est une bonne femme — si elle etait Anglaise !" — Supplement aux 
Memoires, Collection, vol. viii. p. 294. 



JOAN OF ARC. 51 



a formula of abjuration was presented to Joan for her signature. 
It was necessary, in the first place, to explain to her what was 
the meaning of the word abjuration ; she then exclaimed that 
she had nothing to abjure, for that whatever she had done was at 
the command of God. But she was eagerly pressed with argu- 
ments and with entreaties to sign. At the same time the prelates 
pointed to the public hangman, who stood close by in his car, 
ready to bear her away to instant death if she refused. Thus 
urged, Joan said at length, " I would rather sign than burn," 
and put her mark to the paper.* The object, however, was to 
sink her in public estimation ; and with that view, by another 
most unworthy artifice, a much fuller and more explicit confession 
of her errors was afterwards made public, instead of the one 
which had been read to her, and which she had really signed. 

The submission of Joan having been thus extorted, the Bishop 
of Beauvais proceeded to pass sentence in the name of the tri- 
bunal. He announced to her, that out of " grace and moderation " 
her life should be spared, but that the remainder of it must be 
passed in prison " with the bread of grief and the water of 
anguish for her food."| Joan heard the sentence unmoved, saying 
only, " Well, then, ye men of the church, lead me to your own 
prisons, and let me no longer remain in the hands of these 
English." But she was taken back to the same dungeon as before. 

Nor was it designed that her life should indeed be spared. 
Her enemies only hoped, by a short delay and a pretended lenity, 
to palliate the guilt of her murder, or to heap a heavier load 
upon her memory. She had promised to resume a female dress ; 
and it is related that a suit of men's apparel was placed in her 
cell, and her own removed during the night, so that she had no 
other choice next morning but to clothe herself again in the for- 
bidden garments. Such is the common version of the story. But 
we greatly fear that a darker and a sadder tale remains behind 
A priest, named Martin l'Advenu, who was allowed to receive 
her confession at this period, and to shrive her in her dying 
moments, was afterwards examined at the trial of revision, and 

* Deposition, at the Trial of Revision, of Massieu, a priest and rural dean, 
•who had. stood by her side on the scaffold. — Quicherat, ' Proces,' vol. i. p. 8 

f " Au pain de douleurs et a l'eau d'angoisse." — Collection des Memoires, 
vol. viii. p. 304. 

E 2 



52 JOAN OF ARC. 



declared that an English lord (un millourt d'Angleterre) had 
entered her prison and attempted violence ; that on his departure 
she was found with her face disfigured and in tears ; and that she 
had resumed men's apparel as a more effectual safeguard to her 
honour.* 

But whether the means employed in this infamous transaction 
were of fraud or of force, the object was clearly the same — to 
find a pretext for further rigour. For, according to the rules of 
the Inquisition, it was not heresy in the first instance, but only a 
relapse into heresy, that could be punished with death. No 
sooner then was the Bishop of Beauvais apprised of Joan's 
change of dress, than he hastened to the prison to convict her of 
the fact. He asked her whether she had heard " her Voices " 
again ? "I have," answered Joan ; "St. Catherine and St. 
Margaret have reproved me for my weakness in signing the 
abjuration, and commanded me to resume the dress which I wore 
by the appointment of God." This was enough ; the Bishop 
and his compeers straightway pronounced her a heretic relapsed ; 
no pardon could now be granted — scarce any delay allowed. 

At daybreak, on the 30th of May, her confessor, Martin 
l'Advenu, was directed to enter her cell, and prepare her for her 
coming doom — to be burned alive that very day in the market- 
place of Rouen. At first hearing this barbarous sentence, the 
Maid's firmness forsook her for some moments ; she burst into 
piteous cries, and tore her hair in agony, loudly appealing to 
God, "the great Judge," against the wrongs and cruelties done 
her. But ere long regaining her serene demeanour, she made 
her last confession to the priest, and received the Holy Sacrament 
from his hands. At nine o'clock, having been ordered to array 
herself for the last time in female attire, she was placed in the 
hangman's car, with her confessor and some other persons, and 
was escorted to the place of execution by a party of English 
soldiers. As she passed, there happened another touching inci- 
dent to this touching story ; the forsworn priest, the wretched 
L'Oiseleur, who had falsely sought her confidence, and betrayed 
her confession, now moved by deep remorse, threw himself in 

* Compare Sisraondi, vol. xiii. p. 190, with the ' Supplement aux Me- 
mories ' (Collection, vol. viii. p. 304). 



JOAN OF AEC. 53 



her way to own his guilt and implore her forgiveness.* At the 
market-place (it is now adorned by a statue to her memory) 
she found the wood ready piled, and the Bishop of Beauvais with 
the Cardinal of Winchester and other prelates awaiting their 
victim. First a sermon was read, and then her sentence ; at this 
her tears flowed afresh, but she knelt down to pray with her con- 
fessor, and asked for a cross. There was none at hand, and 
one was sent for to a neighbouring church ; meanwhile an 
English soldier made another by breaking his staff asunder, and 
this cross she devoutly clasped to her breast. But the other 
soldiers were already murmuring at these long delays : " How 
now, priest," said they to L'Advenu; "do you mean to make 
us dine here ?" At length their fierce impatience was indulged ; 
the ill-fated woman was bound to the stake, and upon her head 
was placed a mitre with the following words inscribed : — 

" Heretique Relapse, Apostate, Ldoeatre." 

The Bishop of Beauvais drew nigh just after the pile was 
kindled ; " It is you," said she to him, " who have brought me 
to this death." To the very last, as L'Advenu states in his 
deposition, she continued to protest and maintain that her Voices 
were true and unfeigned, and that in obeying them she had 
obeyed the will of God. As the flames increased, she bid 
L'Advenu stand further from her side, but still hold the cross 
aloft, that her latest look on earth might fall on the Redeemer's 
blessed sign. And the last word which she was heard to speak 
ere she expired was — Jesus. Several of the prelates and 
assessors had already withdrawn in horror from the sight, and 
others were melted to tears. But the Cardinal of Winchester, 
still unmoved, gave orders that the ashes and bones of " the 
heretic " should be collected and cast into the Seine. Such was 
the end of Joan of Arc — in her death the martyr, as in her life 
the champion, of her country. 

It seems natural to ask what steps the King of France had 
taken during all this interval to avert her doom. If ever there 
had been a sovereign indebted to a subject, that sovereign was 
Charles VII., that subject Joan of Arc. She had raised the 

* " Some time afterwards he fled to Basle, where he died suddenly.'" — 
Quicherat, ' Proces/ vol. i. p. 6. 



54 JOAN OF ARC. 



spirits of his people from the lowest depression. She had 
retrieved his fortunes when well nigh despaired of by himself. 
Yet, no sooner was she captive than she seems forgotten. We 
hear nothing of any attempt at rescue, of any proposal for 
ransom ; neither the most common protest against her trial, nor 
the faintest threat of reprisals ; nay, not even after her death, one 
single expression of regret ! Charles continued to slumber in 
his delicious retreats beyond the Loire, engrossed by dames of a 
very different character from Joan's, and careless of the heroine 
to whom his security in that indolence was due. 

Her memory on the other hand was long endeared to the 
French people, and long did they continue to cherish a romantic 
hope that she might still survive. So strong was this feeling, 
that in the year 1436 advantage was taken of it by a female 
impostor, who pretended to be Joan of Arc escaped from her 
captivity. She fixed her abode at Metz, and soon afterwards 
married a knight of good family, the Sire des Armoises. Strange 
to say, it appears from a contemporary chronicle, that Joan's two 
surviving brothers acknowledged this woman as their sister.* 
Stranger still, other records prove that she made two visits to 
Orleans, one before and one after her marriage, and on each 
occasion was hailed as the heroine returned. The Receiver- 
General's accounts in that city contain items of expenses in- 
curred s — 1st, for the reception of the Maid and her brother in 
1436 ; 2ndly, for wines and refreshments presented " a Dame 
Jehanne des Armoises," in July, 1439; 3rdly, for a gift of 210 
livres, which the Town Council made to the lady on the 1st of 
August following, in requital of her great services during the 
siege."j" These documents appear of undoubted authenticity; 
yet we are wholly unable to explain them. The brothers of 
Joan of Arc might possibly have hopes of profit by the fraud ; 
but how the people of Orleans, who had seen her so closely, who 
had fought side by side with her in the siege, could be deceived 
as to the person, we cannot understand, nor yet what motive they 
could have in deceiving. 

The interest which Joan of Arc inspires at the present day 

* Chronicle of the Dean of St. Thiebault of Metz, ending in 1445, as cited 
by Calmet, ' Histoire de Lorraine,' vol. ii. p. 702. 
f Collection des Memoires, vol. viii. p. 311. 



JOAN OF ARC. 55 



extends even to the house where she dwelt, and to the family 
from which she sprung. Her father died of grief at the tidings 
of her execution ; her mother long survived it, but fell into 
great distress. Twenty years afterwards we find her in receipt 
of a pension from the city of Orleans ; three francs a month ; 
11 to help her to live."* Joan's brothers and their issue took 
the name of Du Lis from the Lily of France, which the King 
had assigned as their arms. It is said by a writer of the last 
century that their lineage ended in Coulombe du Lis, Prior of 
Coutras, who died in 1760. Yet we learn that there is still a 
family at Nancy, and another at Strasburg, which bear the name 
of Du Lis, and which put forth a pedigree to prove themselves 
the relatives — not, as a modern traveller unguardedly expresses 
it, the descendants ! — of the holy Maid. 

The cottage in which Joan had lived at Domremy was visited 
by Montaigne in his travels. He found the front daubed over 
with rude paintings of her exploits, and in its vicinity beheld 
" VArbre des Fees" which had so often shaded her childhood, 
still flourishing in a green old age, under the new name of 
" VArbre de la Pucelle." Gradually, the remains of this house 
have dwindled to one single room, which is said to have been 
Joan's, and which, in the year 1817, was employed as a stable. 
But we rejoice to learn that the Council-General of the Depart- 
ment has since, with becoming spirit, purchased the venerable 
tenement, and rescued it from such unworthy uses.f 

From the preceding narrative it will be easy to trace the true 
character of Joan. A thorough and earnest persuasion that hers 
was the rightful cause — that in all she had said she spoke the 
truth — that in all she did she was doing her duty — a courage 
that did not shrink before embattled armies, or beleaguered walls, 
or judges thirsting for her blood — a serenity amidst wounds and 
sufferings, such as the great poet of Tuscany ascribes to the 
dauntless usurper of Naples : — 

11 Mostrommi una piaga a sommo '1 petto 
Poi disse sqrribendo : lo son Manfredi T'J 



* Pour lui aider a vivre* Compte-rendu d'un Receveur d'Orleans. — 
Preface de Buchon, p. 66 ; and Sismondi, vol. xiii. p. 193. 
f Collection des Memoires, vol. viii. p. 214. 
% Dante, ' Purgatorio,' canto iii. 



56 JOAN OF ARC. 



— a most resolute will on all points that were connected with her 
mission — perfect meekness and humility on all that were not — 
a clear, plain sense, that could confound the casuistry of 
sophists — an ardent loyalty, such as our own Charles I. inspired 
— a dutiful devotion, on all points, to her country and to God, 
Nowhere do modern annals display a character more pure — 
more generous — more humble amidst fancied visions and un- 
doubted victories—more free from all taint of selfishness — more 
akin to the champions and martyrs of old times. All this is no 
more than justice and love of truth would require us to say. 
But when we find some French historians, transported by an 
enthusiasm almost equal to that of Joan herself, represent her as 
filling the part of a general or statesman — as skilful in leading 
armies, or directing councils — we must withhold our faith. 
Such skill, indeed, from a country girl, without either education 
or experience, would be, had she really possessed it, scarcely less 
supernatural than the visions which she claimed. But the facts 
are far otherwise. In affairs of state, Joan's voice was never 
heard ; in affairs of war, all her proposals will be found to 
resolve themselves into two — either to rush headlong upon the 
enemy, often in the very point where he was strongest, or to offer 
frequent and public prayers to the Almighty. We are not 
aware of any single instance in which her military suggestions 
were not these, or nearly akin to these. Nay, more, as we have 
elsewhere noticed, her want of knowledge and of capacity to 
command were so glaring, that scarce one of the chiefs, or 
princes, or prelates, who heard her in council or familiar conver- 
sation, appears to have retained, beyond the few first days, the 
slightest faith in her mission. At best they regarded her as 
a useful tool in their hands, from the influence which they saw 
her wield upon the army and the people. And herein lies, we 
think, a further proof of her perfect honesty of purpose. A 
deliberate impostor is most likely to deceive those on whom he 
has opportunity and leisure to play his artifices, while the crowd 
beyond the reach of them most commonly remains unmoved. 
Now, the very reverse of this was always the case with Joan 
of Arc. 

The fate of Joan, in literature, has been strange — almost as 
strange as her fate in life. The ponderous cantos of Chapelain 



JOAN OF AEC 57 



in her praise have long since perished — all but a few lines that 
live embalmed in the satires of Boileau. But, besides Schiller's 
powerful drama, two considerable narrative poems yet survive 
with Joan of Arc for their subject, — the epic of Southey, and the 
epic of Voltaire. The one, a young poet's earnest and touching 
tribute to heroic worth — the first flight of the muse that was ere 
long to soar over India and Spain ;* the other full of ribaldry and 
blasphemous jests, holding out the Maid of Orleans as a fitting 
mark for slander and derision. But from whom did these far 
different poems proceed ? The shaft of ridicule came from a 
French — the token of respect from an English — hand ! 

Of Joan's person no authentic resemblance now remains. A 
statue to her memory had been raised upon the bridge at Orleans, 
at the sole charge — so said the inscription — of the matrons and 
maids of that city : this probably preserved some degree of like- 
ness, but unfortunately perished in the religious wars of the six- 
teenth century. There is no portrait extant ; the two earliest 
engravings are of 1606 and 1612, and they greatly differ from 
each other. Yet, who would not readily ascribe to Joan in fancy 
the very form and features so exquisitely moulded by a young 
princess ? Who that has ever trodden the gorgeous galleries of 
Versailles has not fondly lingered before that noble work of art 
— before that touching impersonation of the Christian heroine — 
the head meekly bended, and the hands devoutly clasping the 
sword in sign of the cross, but firm resolution imprinted on that 
close-pressed mouth, and beaming from that lofty brow ? — Whose 
thoughts, as he paused to gaze and gaze again, might not some- 
times wander from old times to the present, and turn to the 
sculptress — sprung from the same Royal lineage which Joan had 
risen in arms to restore — so highly gifted in talent, in fortunes, 

* ' The Vision of Kehama,' and ' Eoderick the Last of the Goths.' We 
have lately read ' Joan of Arc,' revised, in the collected edition of Mr. 
Southey's poems, of which it forms the first volume. In his preface, dated 
May 10, 1837, he has these words, and few, indeed, are they who will read 
them unmoved: — " I have entered upon the serious task of arranging and 
collecting the whole of my poetical works. What was it, indeed, but to 
bring in review before me the dreams and aspirations of my yoiith ? Well 
may it be called a serious task, thus to resuscitate the past. But serious 
though it be, it is not painful to one who knows that the end of his journey 
cannot be far distant, and, by the blessing of God, looks on to its termination 
with a sure and certain hope."' 



58 JOAN OF ARC. 



in hopes of happiness — yet doomed to an end so grievous and 
untimely ? Thus the statue has grown to be a monument, not 
only to the memory of the Maid, but to her own : thus future 
generations in France — all those at least who know how to prize 
either genius or goodness in woman — will love to blend together 
the two names — the female artist with the female warrior — 
Mary of Wurtemberg and Joan of Arc. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 59 



MAEY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, v 

[Qu. Rev., No. 134. March, 1841.] 6 7' 3 5 

History of Scotland. By Patrick Fraser Tytler, Esq. Vol. VII. 
Edinburgh. 1840. pp. 471. 

The industry to trace and discover historical documents is seldom 
found united with the talent to condense and employ them. It is 
not always the same hand that can draw forth the metal from the 
mine and smelt away the dross. We have seen, in France, during 
the last century, innumerable narratives, like Voltaire's, clear, 
lively, and ingenious, but constructed from the fancy rather than 
from facts. We have seen, in our own time and country, men 
who deem they have done good service in printing, without selec- 
tion, barrowful after barrowful and cartload after cartload of un- 
wieldy records. Yet it is only this rare combination in one mind 
of patient research, with perspicuous deduction, that can consti- 
tute the character or deserve the praise of an Historian. 

In both these respects we think that high praise is due to Mr. 
Tytler. Not content with a careful study of the printed autho- 
rities, he has searched through many collections of manuscripts, 
and, above all, that great storehouse of our history, the State- 
Paper Office. His labours in this field have been rewarded with 
an ample harvest. But he has not employed these fruits of his 
labours merely as a dry antiquarian, — as a " word-catcher that 
lives on syllables," — but has applied them with singular sagacity 
and judgment to the facts already known or the doubts hitherto 
remaining. Nor has he fallen, unless in few cases, into the 
common error of ascribing undue importance and value to his 
own discoveries. From the whole he has derived a narrative, 
clear, vigorous, and graphic in its style, accurate and trustworthy 
in its statements. His candour and love of truth are conspicuous 
in every page ; he has not been drawn aside by any favourite 
theory or preconceived opinion, and he has dealt out justice to 
all with a firm and unsparing hand. 



60 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

It is therefore with great satisfaction that we hail the appear- 
ance of Mr. Tytler's seventh volume. Two more will complete 
the work, which, we venture to predict, will then become, and 
long remain, the standard history of Scotland. 

The seventh volume, now before us, comprises the most bril- 
liant, but also by far the most difficult, portion of Mr. Tytler's 
undertaking, — the reign of the ill-fated Mary after her marriage 
with Darnley. No period of any history has been the scene of 
more fierce and stubborn controversies ; over none have prejudice 
and passion cast a deeper veil. Considering the host of docu- 
ments that have already appeared in print on this short but 
eventful period, and how eagerly most collections have been ran- 
sacked again and again by rival writers, we should scarcely have 
supposed that there remained any fresh materials to discover. 
Again, when we looked to the pertinacity with which almost 
every inch of the ground has been fought, it seemed probable 
that any new historian must be constantly arrested and turned 
aside from his path to engage in some thorny debate. Yet, to 
our surprise, Mr. Tytler's labours have succeeded in eliciting 
many new and important facts even from this exhausted field ; 
and he has threaded his way amidst the surrounding controversies, 
never heedless of their arguments, never blind to their lights, yet 
always remembering that his own object is, and ought to be, a 
narrative, not a dissertation. 

We must confess, however, that we are not quite pleased with 
the conclusion to which Mr. Tytler at length arrives: "It is 
difficult," says he, " to draw any certain conclusion as to the 
probability of Mary's guilt or innocence in the murder of her 

husband Upon the whole, it appears to me that, in the 

present state of the controversy, we are really not in possession 
of sufficient evidence to enable any impartial inquirer to come to 
an absolute decision." It appears to us, on the contrary, that 
Mr. Tytler's own labours have done much to resolve such doubts, 
and will appear far more conclusive toothers than they have done 
to himself. We do not see any reason for leaving the mind 
under what Mr. Tytler proceeds to call " this painful and unsatis- 
fying impression." The documents on this controversy are, per- 
haps, more ample than on any other disputed point in history ; 
and the time has come when there is no longer any political 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 61 



object in perverting them. No longer is it attempted to serve an 
exiled family by proving that no Stuart could possibly do wrong. 
No longer is it deemed the best proof of loyalty to the reigning 
House of Hanover to heap insults and invectives on one of its 
own lineal ancestors. In short, if we forbear to judge, the fault, 
as we conceive, lies no longer in the deficiency of information, 
nor yet in the prevalence of party. 

In this conviction we will endeavour, however imperfectly, 
yet as the result of a careful study of the question, to supply the 
gap left by Mr. Tytler, or rather, as jurors, to decide upon the 
evidence he has so ably laid before us. Our view of the subject 
will probably be alike displeasing to both of the extreme parties 
— to the vehement accusers, and to the vehement admirers, of 
Queen Mary, — to those who would brand her as a murderess, 
and to those who would enshrine her as a martyr. We think, 
however, that an intermediate judgment will be found to com- 
bine, in a remarkable degree, nearly all the valid arguments that 
both parties have put forward. But, amidst this tangled web of 
controversies, and with Mr. Tytler's new lights to apply to them, 
our only clear course will be, in the first place, to recapitulate 
the leading events, as we believe them to have happened, even at 
the hazard of repeating many facts already known to the reader. 
The misfortunes of Mary began even with her earliest days. 
The news of her birth, at Linlithgow (December 8, 1542*), 
found the King, her father, secluded in the lonely palace of 
Falkland, and dying of a broken heart. Pie was weighed down 
to the grave by the untimely loss of his two sons, and, more 
recently, the disgraceful rout of his army. For whole days he 
would sit in gloomy silence, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, 
sometimes dropping his arms listlessly by his side, and sometimes 
convulsively striking them upon his heart, as if he sought to tear 
from out his breast the load of grief which oppressed it. Thus 
sunk into despair, he received the messenger from his Queen 
without welcome, and the news of a daughter's birth without 
pleasure : but his thoughts wandered back to the times of old, 

* We may observe that Mr. Tytler is not always sufficiently careful in 
giving the dates, except where he decides any controversy respecting them. 
Neither the date of Queen Mary's birth, nor of King James's death, for 
instance, is to be found in his pages. 



62 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

when the daughter of the Bruce had brought his ancestor the 
kingdom for her dowry, and he exclaimed, with mournful fore- 
bodings, " It came with a girl, and it will go with a girl !" A 
few of his more favoured counsellors and servants stood around 
his couch : after some space the dying monarch stretched out his 
hand for them to kiss, and, casting upon them his last look of 
placid affection, turned round upon his pillow and expired. He 
was aged only thirty years, and his infant daughter and successor 
only six days. 

Six years pass, and the infant Queen becomes transferred, for 
safe custody and for future marriage, to France. Twelve years 
more, and we find her again embarking for her native land, with 
all the hopes for which she had left it already blighted, — her 
youthful husband, Francis II., having sunk under a languishing 
disease, during which she had watched over him with devoted 
care and affection, — and she now returning to encounter, at 
scarcely yet eighteen, the stormy factions of her own northern 
realm. Warm-hearted and confiding, her most eager desire at 
this time was for the friendship and alliance of Elizabeth. In 
her own words to the ambassador of England, — " There are 
more reasons to persuade to amity between Elizabeth, my good 
sister, and myself, than between any two princes in Christendom. 
We are both in one isle, both of one language, both the nearest 
kinswoman that each other hath, and both Queens." * Far dif- 
ferent were Elizabeth's designs. Not merely did she refuse the 
passport which Mary sought, but she sent some ships of war with 
secret instructions to intercept her on her voyage. Mary's reply 
to Throckmorton, when she found the safe conduct withheld, was 
affecting, and, as Mr. Tytler observes, seemed almost to shadow 
forth her future fate : 

" If," said she, " my preparations were not so much advanced as they 
are, peradventure the Queen's, your mistress's, unkindness might stay 
my voyage, but now I am determined to adventure the matter, what- 
soever come of it. I trust the wind will be so favourable as I shall not 
need to come on the coast of England : and if I do, then, Monsieur 
TAmbassadeur, the Queen, your mistress, shall have me in her hands 
to do her will of me ; and if she be so hard-hearted as to desire my end, 
she may then do her pleasure, and make sacrifice of me ; peradventure 



* Sir N. Throckmorton and the Earl of Bedford to the Council, Feb. 26, 1561. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 63 



that casualty might be better for me than to live. In this matter God's 
will be fulfilled."* 

Notwithstanding these — let us use a Scottish word in speaking 
of a Scottish Queen — "ower true" forebodings of evil, and lin- 
gering regrets, Mary, having taken leave of her uncles of Guise, 
embarked at Calais and proceeded on her voyage. It has often 
been related how, until the night, she never ceased to look upon 
the lessening shores of France — how she commanded a couch to 
be spread for her on deck — how at sunrise she eagerly sought 
another parting glance before the coast finally faded from her 
sight — how sadly she bade adieu to that cherished country where 
her early love lay buried, and where her remaining affections were 
enshrined. "Farewell, France," she said, " beloved France, I shall 
never see thee more !" Soon after this sprung up a favourable breeze 
to waft her on her voyage : a still more auspicious fog screened her 
galley from the notice of the English ships, and enabled her to arrive 
in safety; although Brantome, who was one of the gentlemen attend- 
ing her, most ungratefully denounces le brouillard as a fitting 
emblem — de son royaume brouille, brouillon et malplaisant \\ 

On the 19th of August, 1561, Mary landed at Leith, amidst 
the rude attempts at state, but sincere rejoicings of her people. 
May not then her thoughts have wandered back, as ours do now 
to recall how, at the same port, five-and-twenty years before 
another Queen of Scotland had landed — Madeline of France, the 
bride of King James — how, on descending from the ship, Made- 
line had knelt down upon the shore, and taking up some of the 
sand, kissed it with deep emotion, w T hile she implored a blessino- 
upon her new country and her beloved husband ! % Madeline 
was young and fair as herself — her steps as buoyant, and her 
hopes as bright. But Madeline was more happy than Mary. 
Only a few weeks from her landing she expired — with no doubtful 
fame — no blighted affections — no violent and ignominious death ! 
" Whom the gods love die young, was said of yore, 
And many deaths do they escape by this — 
The death of friends — and that which slays even more, 
The death of friendship, love, youth, all that is 
Besides mere breath." 



* Keith, p. 176. Tytler, vol. vi. p. 273. 

f Brantome, (Euvres, vol. ii. p. 142. Ed. 1740. 

X See Mr. Tytler's ' History,' vol. v. p. 257. 



64 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

Never was young sovereign hailed in more beautiful verse than 
Buchanan prepared for Mary — never was poetical prophecy 
worse fulfilled than that of his 

1 ' Nympha Caledoniae quae nunc feliciter orae 
Missa per innumeros sceptra tueris avos !" 

"We shall not pause to examine in detail the first four years of 
her administration. It seems admitted that her general conduct 
in this period was distinguished both by sense and spirit. 
Amidst the fearful elements she was called to rule — cruelty and 
revenue, oppression and corruption, in every form — all the fierce 
and lawless passions of a dark age, which had been not softened 
or subdued, but only taught dissimulation and treachery by fre- 
quent intercourse with more polished nations — amidst these, how 
hard, how apparently hopeless, the task of a youthful Queen, 
already denounced as a Papist and a stranger ! Her beauty and 
accomplishments, indeed, made a favourable impression on her 
subjects. " May God save that sweet face !" was the cry as she 
rode in procession to the Parliament ; " she speaks as properly as 
the best orator amongst them !" But the more austere preachers 
of the " Evangele " frowned— and taught their flocks to frown — 
on the foreign " idolatress." Although, on her landing, she 
had issued a proclamation promising to maintain the Protestant 
form of worship which she found established — although she had 
scrupulously fulfilled this promise — she could not easily obtain 
for herself the same freedom of conscience that she granted. " I 
mean," she had said even while yet in France, " to constrain 
none of my subjects, but would wish they were all as I am ; and 
I trust that they shall have no support to constrain me." * Loud 
and fierce, however, were now the clamours against the cele- 
bration of mass in her own private chapel : — 

" It was even argued by Knox," observes Mr. Tytler, " that the 
Jews were more tolerable in their tenets than the Romish Church ; he 
would rather see, he said, ten thousand French soldiers in Scotland 
than suffer a single Mass. And when the Master of Lindsay, a furious 
zealot, heard that it was about to be celebrated, he buckled on his har- 
ness, assembled his followers, and rushing into the court of the palace, 
shouted aloud that the priests should die the death. The Lord James, 

* Keith, p. 167. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 65 

however, opposed this violence, placed himself at the door ot" the 
chapel, overawed the multitude, and preserved the lives of the chap- 
lains who officiated : for which he was bitterly and ironically attacked 
by Knox." 

Nearly four years from her landing (July 29, 1565) was so- 
lemnised the Queen's second marriage with Lord Darnley. At 
the altar Mary appeared in deep mourning ; and it was remarked 
by the superstitious that it was the same dress which she had 
worn on the melancholy day of her late husband's obsequies. 
She was now in her twenty-third year, and it needed but little of 
courtly exaggeration to declare her the most lovely woman of 
Europe. Her matchless beauty of person and bewitching grace 
of manner are warmly extolled by her partisans, and reluctantly 
acknowledged by her enemies. Her taste for all the fine arts 
and accomplishments, and her skill in several, especially poetry 
and music, were never denied ; though sometimes, by the 
Puritans, charged on her as crimes. On her character there is 
no such unanimity. So far as we may judge it from her pro- 
ceedings up to this time, it appears warm, generous, and con- 
fiding; but with each of these qualities carried to a faulty 
extreme. Impatient of contradiction, as a sovereign from her 
cradle, her warmth often impelled her beyond all prudent 
bounds, and rendered her heedless of advice and incapable of 
judgment. Her generosity was seldom tempered by caution ; 
and her confidence once granted was credulous and unguarded. 
" It was Mary's weakness," says Mr. Tytler, speaking of her in 
1564, "to be hurried away by the predominating influence of 
some one feeling and object."* And we find her on most occa- 
sions act or speak from the impulse of the moment, instead of 
firm resolve and unswerving principle. On the whole, we may 
pronounce her, according to the words of Robertson, " an agree- 
able woman rather than a great Queen :" and in both respects, 
we may add, the very opposite to her " good sister" of England. 

Lord Darnley, who henceforth took the title of King Henry, 
was the eldest son of the Earl of Lennox, and his mother, next 
to Mary herself, the nearest in succession to the throne of 
England. He was now scarcely nineteen years of age, of a tall 
and graceful stature, and of outward graces and accomplishments, 

* Vol. vi. p. 373. 

F 



66 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

but utterly wanting, as it proved, in good qualities, both of head 
and heart. Not many months elapsed ere he began to show in- 
gratitude to the Queen ; he became addicted to drunkenness and 
other low debauchery, in pursuit of which he forsook her com- 
pany, and even in public treated her with harshness and dis- 
respect.* He openly aspired to the "Crown matrimonial" — 
implying an equal share with the Queen in the government ; 
and by a strange but not uncommon combination, the more 
incapable he showed himself of wielding power, the more eager 
he appeared to grasp it. But it is very remarkable that even 
before the marriage had been solemnised he had so far aggrieved 
many of the nobles by his insolence, that they already began to 
mutter amongst themselves vague threats of his assassination. 
This appears from a secret letter of the English ambassador, 
which we owe to Mr. Tytler's researches in the State-Paper 
Office :— 

" His (Darnley's) pride is intolerable, his words not to be borne, but 
where no man dare speak again. He spareth not also, in token of his 
manhood, to let some blows fly where he knoweth that they will be 
taken. Such passions, such furies, as I hear say that sometimes he will 
be in, is hard to believe. When they have said all, and thought what 
they can, they find nothing but that God must send him a short end, or 
themselves a miserable life. To see so many in hazard as now stand in 
danger of life, land, and goods, it is great pity to think. Only to re- 
medy this mischief, he must be taken away, or such as he hateth find 
good support '""t 

Darnley, however unfit to lead any of the factions, was some- 
times found by them an useful tool, and always an easy dupe. 
The Queen had at this time for her foreign secretary a Milanese, 
named David Riccio, who had lately risen from an humble 
station into high Court favour, and therefore, we need not add, 

* Among other fragments of verse in Mary's handwriting on the leaves 
of her Missal now at St. Petersburg, there is this stanza, which a recent tra- 
veller, Mr. Venables, transcribes (p. 300) : — • 

" Un coeur que l'outrage martire, 
Par un mepris ou un refus, 
A le pouvoir de faire dire 
Je ne suis pas ce que je fus — Marie." 

f Letter of Randolph, dated June 3, 1565, and addressed, Mr. Tytler 
in one place says, to Cecil (vol. vi. p. 402), in another place, to Leicester 
(p. 403). But this is of little importance. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. G7 



made numerous enemies. The Protestant party, above all, were 
justly and reasonably alarmed at the rapid rise of this zealous 
adherent— and perhaps, as they said, secret pensioner — of Rome, 
at the very moment when a league was forming on the Continent 
for the utter suppression of their faith, — a league which Mary, 
at this juncture, was most unwisely and most unwarrantably 
induced to sign. Moreover, Kiccio's own head had been turned 
by his sudden elevation ; and he began to assume, in his dress, 
equipage, and establishment, a lofty state wholly unsuited to his 
rank. His enemies now persuaded Darnley that Riccio was the 
only obstacle between himself and the il Crown matrimonial :" 
out not satisfied with this motive, or not finding it sufficient to 
stir the King, they artfully instilled into his mind the absurd 
delusion that this Italian — homme assez age> laid, morne et 
malplaisant, as he is described by one of his acquaintance* — 
had supplanted him in the affections of the Queen. It seems 
needless to vindicate Mary from a charge which is now, we 
believe, on all hands acknowledged as a calumny. But Darnley, 
blinded with ambition and anger, eagerly entered into a project 
for the assassination of the foreign favourite, and, according to 
the ferocious custom of the times, signed two " Bands," or 
covenants for mutual assistance in that object, with several of 
the opposite cabal, — with the Earl of Morton, then Chancellor 
of the kingdom, — with the Lord Ruthven, — with the Queen's 
own secretary, Maitland of Lethington, — nay, even with her 
illegitimate brother, the Lord James, lately created by her 
favour Earl of Murray. This last nobleman had a few months 
back been exiled for rebellion, and, while still in England, un- 
scrupulously entered the conspiracy as an opening for his return. 
Even John Knox, the great founder of the Reformed Church in 
Scotland, was often suspected — and now, we fear, is proved by 
Mr. Tytler — to have previously known and approved this scheme 
of murder. t The foul deed was accordingly perpetrated on the 

* Blackwood, p. 74; and William Tytler's ' Dissertation,' vol. ii. p. 6. 
Ed. 1790. 

f The main proof against Knox is a letter from the English agent Ran- 
dolph, which Mr. Tytler has found in the State-Paper Office. Randolph, as 
Mr. Tytler has shown, was previously well acquainted with the conspiracy 
and trusted by the conspirators. On the 21st of March, writing from Ber- 
wick, he sent to Cecil a secret list of " such as were consenting to the death 

p 2 



68 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

9th of March, 1566; and we will give it in Mr. Tytler's own 
words, as a sample of his clear and interesting narrative : — 

"On Saturday evening, about seven o'clock, when it was dark, the 
Earls of Morton and Lindsay, with a hundred and fifty men, bearing 
torches and weapons, occupied the court of the palace of Holyrood, 
seized the gates without resistance, and closed them against all but 
their own friends. At this moment Mary wa^at supper in a small 
closet or cabinet which entered from her bed-chamber. She was at- 
tended by the Countess of Argyle, the commendator of Holyrood, 
Beaton, master of the household, Arthur Erskine, captain of the guard, 
and her secretary, Riccio. The bed-chamber communicated by a secret 
turnpike stair with the King's apartment below, to which the conspi- 
rators had been admitted ; and Darnley, ascending this stair, threw up 
the arras which concealed its opening in the wall, entered the little 
apartment where Mary sat, and casting his arm fondly round her waist, 
seated himself beside her at table. A minute had scarcely passed when 
Ruthven, clad in complete armour, abruptly broke in. This man had 
just risen from a sick bed ; his features were sunk and pale from dis- 
ease, his voice hollow, and his whole appearance haggard and terrible. 
Mary, who was now seven months gone with child, started up in terror, 
commanding him to be gone ; but, ere the words were uttered, torches 
gleamed in the outer room, a confused noise of voices and weapons was 



of David ;" and the two last names in this list are " John Knox, John Craig, 
preachers." Tt is true that these two names do not appear in a subsequent 
list sent on the 27th of March. But this subsequent list was addressed, not 
to Cecil, but to the whole council : by the time it was sent, Morton and 
Ruthven had already arrived at Berwick ; and by that time also, as we 
learn from Morton and Ruthven's own letter to the English Court, *' Some 
Papists have bruited that these our proceedings have been at the instigation 
of the ministers of Scotland," — a rumour which it might have afforded their 
enemies a triumph to confirm. We must likewise bear in mind that, ac- 
cording to Knox's avowed principles, the Roman Catholics were worse 
idolaters than the nations of Canaan, and that the texts in the Old Testa- 
ment for putting these idolaters to death are still binding under the Chris- 
tian dispensation. Nor did Knox confine this supposed duty to magistrates 
or men in power alone. He has himself recorded a conversation which 
had with Queen Mary in 15G3, when he urged the laws against idolatry: 
" These," he said, " it was the duty of princes to execute ; if they failed to 
do so, others must do it for them. Elias did not spare Jezebel's prophets 
and Baal's priests, although King Achab stood by. Phinehas was no 
magistrate," &c. — Knox, p. 353, and Tytler's ' History,' vol. vi. p. 326. On 
such erroneous principles it is evident that the murder of Riccio would be 
perfectly justifiable ; and Knox's own language, in afterwards referring 
to it, was that of triumph, rejoicing, and implied approval. This is 
admitted by his biographer, Dr. Macrie (Life, edited by Dr. Crichton, 
p. 253). 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 69 

heard, and the next moment George Douglas, Car of Faudonside, and 
other conspirators rushed into the closet. 

"Ruthven now drew his dagger, and calling out that their business 
was with Riccio, made an effort to seize him, whilst this miserable 
victim, springing behind the Queen, clung by her gown, and, in his 
broken language, called out, ' Giustizia, giustizia ! sauve ma vie, Ma- 
dame, sauve ma vie !' All was now uproar and confusion ; and, though 
Mary earnestly implored them to have mercy, they were deaf to her 
entreaties, the table and lights were thrown down, Riccio was stabbed 
by Douglas over the Queen's shoulder, Car of Faudonside, one of the 
most ferocious of the conspirators, held a pistol to her breast, and while 
she shrieked with terror, their bleeding victim was torn from her knees, 
and dragged, amidst shouts and execrations, through the Queen's bed- 
room to the entrance of the presence-chamber. Here Morton and his 
men rushed upon him, and buried their daggers in his body. So eager 
and reckless were they in their ferocity, that, in the struggle to get at 
him, they wounded one another; nor did they think the work complete 
till the body, was mangled by fifty-six wounds, and left in a pool of 
blood, with the King's dagger sticking in it, to show, as was afterwards 
alleged, that he had sanctioned the murder. 

" Nothing can more strongly show the ferocious manners of the times 
than an incident which now occurred. Ruthven, faint from sickness, 
and reeking from the scene of blood, staggered into the Queen's cabinet, 
where Mary still stood distracted and in terror of her life. Here he 
threw himself upon a seat, called for a cup of wine, and, being re- 
proached for the cruelty of his conduct, not only vindicated himself and 
his associates, but plunged a new dagger into the heart of the unhappy 
Queen, by declaring that her husband had advised the whole. She 
was then ignorant of the completion of the murder ; but suddenly one 
of her ladies rushed into the room, and cried out that their victim was 
slain. ' And is it so?' said Mary; ' then farewell tears; we must now 
think of revenge.' .... 

li Thus ended all hope of rescue : but although baffled in this attempt, 
secluded even from her women, trembling, and justly fearing for her 
life, the Queen's courage and presence of mind did not forsake her. 
She remonstrated with her husband ; she even condescended to reason 
with Ruthven, who replied in rude and upbraiding terms, and at last, 
exhausted with this effort, she would have sunk down, had they not 
called for her ladies and left her to repose. Next morning all the 
horrors of her condition broke fully upon her ; she was a prisoner in 
the hands of a band of assassins ; they were led by her husband, who 
watched all her motions, — he had already assumed the Royal power, — - 
she was virtually dethroned ; who could tell what dark purposes might 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



not be meditated against her person ? These thoughts agitated her to 
excess, and threw her into a fever, in which she imagined the ferocious 
Ruthven was coming to murder her, and shrieking out that she was 
abandoned by all, she was threatened with miscarriage. The piteous 
sight revived Darnley's affection ; her gentlewomen were admitted, and 
the danger passed*away. Yet so strong was the suspicion with which 
she was guarded, that no lady was allowed to pass ' muffled' from the 
Queen's chamber." — vol. vii. p. 34-39. 

It is well known how soon and how ably Mary availed herself 
of the rising" pity or returning affection of Darnley. She repre- 
sented to him that he was surrendering himself a tool into the 
hands of her enemies and his own. If they had belied her 
honour, — if they had periled her life, and that of her unborn 
infant, would he believe that when he alone stood between them 
and their ambition they would hesitate to destroy him also ? 
Won over by her arguments, Darnley became alarmed at the 
consequences of the murder to himself: he sought shelter in the 
usual resource of a weak mind — a falsehood ; he denied all 
previous connexion with the conspiracy ; and consented to betray 
his friends as readily as he had before his consort. To lull sus- 
picion, the Queen retired to rest that night; and the conspirators 
who guarded the palace, deeming all safe, betook themselves to 
the house of Morton, their accomplice. There they met the 
Earl of Murray, who, with the other banished lords, had rode 
into Edinburgh, according to their appointment, the evening 
after the murder, and with him they agreed to imprison their 
sovereign in Stirling Castle, and compel her, by threats of death, 
to surrender the crown to Darnley, under whose name the sceptre 
would be wielded by themselves. But at midnight Mary rose, 
threw herself upon a fleet horse, and fled to Dunbar, accom- 
panied only by the King and one attendant. The news of her 
escape flew through the land ; on to her rescue thronged her 
nobles, headed by the Earl of Bothwell, whose domains lay in 
that corner of the kingdom, and by his brother-in-law, the Earl 
of Huntly ; a multitude of their retainers gathered in arms, and 
in a few days she could advance against the capital, at the head 
of eight thousand men. As she approached, the conspirators 
scattered hither and thither in the utmost alarm. Morton and 
Ruthven, and others, sought refuge in England, and Lethington 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 71 

hastened towards the mountain recesses of Athol. The more 
artful Murray had the skill to conceal his participation, and to 
profess his abhorrence of the crime, So little did Mary suspect 
his share in the transaction, that even at the first, when she heard 
of his arrival, she had instantly sent for him, and thrown herself 
into his arms, in an agony of tears, exclaiming, " If my brother 
had been here, he never would have suffered me to have been 
thus cruelly handled I" Even now she appears not to have been 
undeceived. She extended to him her forgiveness of his former 
rebellion, and even exerted herself to compose an old feud be- 
tween him and the heads of the opposite party, Bothwell and 
Huntly. 

For Darnley, he not only disclosed the names and denounced 
the deed of his former friends, but busied himself in bringing 
them to justice. Such conduct incensed them to the utmost ; 
and they retaliated by laying before the Queen the " Bands," or 
covenants, proving that the King had been one main instrument 
of the conspiracy against her. " Can we wonder," says Mr. 
Tytler, " that her heart was almost broken by the discovery; 
that — to use the words of Melvil — she should have loudly 
lamented the King's folly and unthankfulness ; that she was 
compelled to withdraw from him all confidence ; and in solitary 
bitterness to act entirely for herself?" 

Such violent shocks and sorrows could not fail to impair the 
Queen's health ; and there seemed great reason to fear that she 
might not survive her approaching child-birth. Her mind had 
become haunted with a feverish dread that Morton and his savage 
associates — their hands yet reeking with the blood of Eiccio — 
had resolved to break in upon her during the pangs of her 
labour.* Uncertain of the result, she withdrew into Edinburgh 
Castle, called for her nobility, took measures with them for the 
future government of her kingdom, made her will, became recon- 
ciled with the King, and personally arranged every thing, either 
for life or death. Her evil forebodings were not yet to be ful- 
filled. On the 19th of June she gave birth in safety to a prince 
— James the Sixth of Scotland ; James the First of England. 
In a letter from Mary, during her captivity, to her mother-in- 
law, the Countess of Lennox, after sadly alluding to " your 
* Randolph to Cecil, June 13, 1566. MS., State-Paper Office. 



72 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

little son and my only child," she adds, " I have borne him, and 
God knows with what danger to him and me both."* A mother's 
heart can find full reward for such pains and perils in the very 
infant that caused them : but, within a few short months, the 
hard fate or the ill conduct of Mary tore from her — and for ever 
— her only child. 

On her recovery, the Queen show r ed considerable confidence to 
Murray, on whom indeed she had mainly relied when first she 
landed in Scotland. At his intercession she consented to pardon 
Lethington, a most versatile and unscrupulous man, even ac- 
cording to the low standard of that age ; but so sagacious, subtle, 
and insinuating as to be always welcome to any party that he 
joined. She was also induced to recall the Lairds of Calder, 
Ormiston, and those other leaders of the church party (excepting 
Knox) who had been concerned in Kiecio's murder, and were 
now lurking" in different concealments. But for the arch con- 
spirators, Morton, Ruthven, and their associates in England, 
Murray as yet pleaded in vain, though aided by all the influence 
of Bothwell, Huntly, Argyle, and Lethington. It was evident, 
however, at the time to an acute observer that even as to Morton 
and to Ruthven the Queen was beginning to relent, and to think 
of permitting their return. j To the King, though with no 
absolute breach between them, Mary showed much coldness and 
reserve ; and during an excursion which she made on her reco- 
very to Alloa, Stirling, Meggetland, and back again to Edin- 
burgh, she was apparently desirous to avoid his company. For 
a few days (August, 1566), the exertions of the French ambas- 
sador succeeded in producing a temporary reconciliation between 
them.ij: But affection, when once great and once forfeited, can 
never be restored; and an increased alienation followed close 
upon this shortlived agreement. Nor had failure as yet borne 
to Darnley its usual bitter but salutary fruits ; it had not cor- 
rected his judgment, it had only goaded his pride. He bitterly 
complained of the neglect into which he had fallen, imputing it 
solely to the coldness of the Queen, and in no degree to his own 

* Letter, dated Chatsworth, July 10, 1570, and printed as a note (B) to 
Dr. Robertson's ' Dissertation on the Murder of Darnley.' 
t Forster to Cecil. Sept. 19, 1566. MS., State-Paper Office. 
% Keith, Appendix, p. 169. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



ill conduct, and to the general scorn which it inspired. Eager 
to gain, at all hazards, a share of power, he once more plunged 
headlong into most foolish and guilty courses ; and as his oppo- 
nents were mostly Protestants, he — though himself professing 
that faith — be^an to intrigue with the Romanists. He went so 
far as to write secretly to the Pope, blaming and lamenting the 
conduct of the Queen for not having as yet restored the Mass in 
her dominions. His intrigues being traced, and his letters in- 
tercepted, he, instead of contrition for the fault, only expressed 
anew his complaint at being excluded from the government, and 
sullenly withdrew to fix his residence at Stirling. There he 
pined awhile in unpitied solitude, attended only by his own ser- 
vants or dependants, and forsaken by all the suitors for Court 
favour. " Among the nobles," says Robertson, " some dreaded 
his furious temper, others complained of his perfidiousness, and 
all of them despised the weakness of his understanding and the 
inconstancy of his heart."* Finding himself utterly unable to 
form any party at home, he embraced the desperate resolution of 
leaving the kingdom, repairing to some foreign Court, and re- 
monstrating against the cruelty with which he thought himself 
treated. Pie communicated this wild design to his father, the 
Earl of Lennox ; and Lennox, for the purpose of preventing it, 
hastened to impart it by a letter to the Queen. Mary was much 
alarmed at the tidings. She perceived the disgrace, that her 
domestic troubles should be thus heralded abroad, and the danger 
that Darnley might become a pretext or an instrument in the 
hands of any power that might, either on political or religious 
grounds, interfere in her dominions. There followed imme- 
diately an interview between her and Darnley, with most earnest 
remonstrances against his intended flight both from herself and 
from all the Lords of the Council. Her affectionate and endear- 
ing expressions, as reported in a letter from the Lords to the 
Queen Mother of France, are much dwelt on in her favour by 
several writers, especially by William Tytler, our author's 
grandfather, and, more recently, by the acute and learned Lin- 
gard.f There seems, however, great reason to suspect that 
these expressions were far more highly coloured than the truth 

* History of Scotland, book iv. 

f History of England, vol. v. p. 238, note, 4to. ed. 



74 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



would warrant, since we find the Queen's secretary, at this very- 
time, mention the letter not as written but only as required to be 
signed by the Lords of Council.* Thus much only we consider 
certain— that Mary and her counsellors remonstrated to the 
utmost against her husband's project — that his replies were short 
and sullen — but that, before he returned to Stirling, she had 
prevailed in making him, at least for the time, relinquish it. 

In proportion as her husband sunk, the Earl of Bothwell ap- 
peared to rise in Mary's favour. This nobleman was the head 
of the ancient family of Hepburn, and the lord of extensive 
estates in the south-east of Scotland. Though himself a Pro- 
testant, he had in early life warmly defended Mary of Guise, 
the Queen Regent, when assailed by the Reformers, and was 
forced to retire into France from his attachment to her cause. 
He came back to Scotland some months before Mary herself; 
but in the ensuing year he was accused of a plot against the 
Earl of Murray's life, and driven into banishment, nor was he 
permitted to return until Murray, in his turn, became an exile. 
He then strengthened his interest by a marriage with Lady Jean 
Gordon, sister of another powerful noble, the Earl of Huntly, 
and appeared on all occasions zealously devoted to the support of 
the Royal cause. We have seen how faithful and important 
were his services to the Queen in the trying crisis of her flight 
to Dunbar. From her gratitude or from her partiality he re- 
ceived a succession of favours, especially the wardenship of the 
three marches, till then conferred upon separate persons ; and 
he already held the office of High Admiral by hereditary right. 
At this time he was less than thirty years of age ; and his cha- 
racter, from his repeated exiles, almost unknown in his native 
country. Throckmorton, the English ambassador at Paris, thus 
describes him in a despatch of November 28, 1560 : — " The 
Earl of Bothwell is departed to return into Scotland, and hath 
made boast that he will do great things, and live in Scotland in 
despite of all men. He is a glorious (boastful), rash, and 
hazardous young man." From a contemplation of his whole 
career it may be said that undaunted courage appears his only 
virtue. In him a profligate love of pleasure was joined and 

* Lethington to Archbishop Beatoun, the Queen's ambassador at Paris. 
Jedburgh, Oct. 24, 3 56G. The letter from the Lords is dated October 8. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 75 

made subservient to a restless and aspiring ambition. Bold, 
active, and, above all, utterly unscrupulous, of frank, soldier- 
like address, and insinuating manners, he was well skilled in every 
wile that can ensnare the female heart. We find that during his 
exile he had succeeded in debauching a noble Norwegian lady 
by a promise of marriage, and also, it is said, two daughters of a 
lord at Lubeck.* Man's life he regarded as little as woman's 
honour, whenever it stood between him and his objects ; and he 
drew from his border estates and office of Lord Warden a band 
of broken and desperate retainers, hardened and murderous 
ruffians, whose swords or whose daggers were ready at every 
bidding of their master. 

It has been argued by Mary's advocates in this controversy, 
above all by Goodall and Whitaker, that the Queen felt no un- 
worthy fondness for Bothwell ; that her confidence was due to 
his fidelity; that her bounty had been earned by his services; 
that she never forgot her duty to the King her husband, and that 
her final union with Bothwell in the ensuing year sprung not 
from her attachment, but from his compulsion. We must con- 
fess that, as it seems to us, this theory, already shaken to its 
foundations by Hobertson and Hume, has been utterly and en- 
tirely demolished by Mr. Laing in his able Dissertation. We 
think it incontrovertible that, after the birth of the prince, Both- 
well gradually acquired over the heart of Mary a guilty and 
absolute ascendant. By what insensible steps her gratitude and 
confidence may have ripened into tenderness, or how soon he 
might obtain his triumph, is not so easy to determine. Perhaps 
even the perfidy of her own attendants may have conspired to her 
ruin. According to her enemies, she afterwards confessed to 
Murray, at Lochleven, that she was first betrayed to Bothwell on 
her return to Alloa (in September, 1566), the Lady Reres having, 
without her sanction, introduced him one night into her chamber. f 
This alleged fact appears the more entitled to some weight, since 
w r e observe that it was brought forward by her worst accusers, 
not at all as a palliation, but only for a proof of her guilt. It is 
also much confirmed by the ninth of the love-sonnets ascribed to 

* See Laing's Appendix, No. xxxi. 

f Buchanan's ' Detection,' 6, compared with Keith, p. 445. See a note 
to Laing's ' Dissertation,' vol. ii. p. 6. 



7G MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

her, which distinctly alludes to the same transaction ; and adds, 
that it cost her many tears.* If this theory be well founded, it 
must, however, be acknowledged that the tears which Mary 
mentions did not long continue to flow. But we lay no stress on 
these conjectures. God forbid that we should argue that any 
degree of misconduct in her husband, of skill in her lover, or of 
treachery in her attendants, can justify a woman for dishonour ! 
Nay, if even it could be proved or presumed that Mary had not 
absolutely yielded until after her husband's death, we should still 
arraign her of having relinquished to Bothwell the entire mastery 
of her affections and direction of her conduct, and of having thus 
enabled him and other worthless men to perceive that Darnley 
was the only obstacle between him and her hand. 

It chanced that about this time disturbances broke out upon 
the borders. The presence of the Queen was needed in those 
districts, and accordingly Mary, attended by her principal minis- 
ters, repaired to Jedburgh, where she determined to hold her 
courts of justice. She was preceded by a considerable force, and 
by the Earl of Bothwell as lord warden, who applied himself 
with his usual daring energy to the restoration of order. On the 
7th of October, attempting to seize, and struggling with one of 
the ruffians, Elliot of Park, he received a sudden thrust from his 
sword, and was carried off, dangerously wounded, to his castle of 
the Hermitage. Next day the Queen opened her courts at Jed- 
burgh ; and on the 15th she rode forth to the Hermitage to visit 
Bothwell, a distance of twenty Scotch miles, remaining with him 
only two hours, in the presence of other statesmen, and returning 
the same night. The difficulties and haste of her journey are 
still recorded in the tradition of the country, — how her white 
palfrey sunk into a morass, which retains the name of the Queen's 
Moss ; and how she was accompanied by only ten attendants. t 
It is possible to explain her visit as only " a mark of regard to a 
subject of high rank, and in high office, who had nearly lost his 

* " Pour lui aussi je jette mainte larme, 

Premier, quand il se fit de ce corps possesseur 
Duquel alors il n'avait pas le coeur." — Sonnet ix. 

f Laing's ' Dissertation,' vol. i. p. 17. Bat he has altogether confounded 
the dates, from relying on Buchanan, and mistaking the ambiguous terms of 
the Diary called Murray's or Cecil's (vol. ii. p. 85). 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 77 



life in the execution of liis duty;" but a more tender motive 
pay be no I; less probably surmised. 

Immediately afterwards the Queen was seized with a burning 
fever, which has been variously ascribed to fatigue of body or to 
anguish of mind.* For several days her life was despaired of. 
During the height of her illness the King never came to see her ; 
and a visit which he paid some time after the peril was over was 
short and cold. " It is a fault that I cannot excuse," writes 
the French ambassador, De Croc, j On her recovery, Mary, still 
weak from sickness, proceeded by slow journeys to the castle of 
Craigmillar, very near Edinburgh, where she remained, still 
attended by her principal ministers, and by Bothwell, who had 
now recovered of his wound. Her situation at this time is de- 
scribed by an eye-witness, the French ambassador : — 

" The Queen is in the hands of the physicians, and I do assure you 
is not at all well ; and I do believe the principal part of her disease to 
consist of a deep grief and sorrow. Nor does it seem possible to make 
her forget the same. Still she repeats these words : ' I could wish to 
be dead.' You know very well that the injury she has received is ex- 
ceeding great, and her Majesty will never forget it. The King, her 
husband, came to visit her at Jedburgh the very day after Captain Hay 
came away. He remained there but one single night, and yet in that 
short time I had a great deal of conversation with him. He returned 
to see the Queen about five or six days ago ; and the day before yester 
day he sent word to desire me to speak with him half a league from 
this, which I complied with, and found that things go still worse and 
worse. I think he intends to go away to-morrow ; but in any event I 
am much assured that he will not be present at the (Prince's) baptism. 
To speak my mind freely to you, I do not expect, upon several accounts, 
any good understanding between them, unless God effectually put to 
his hand. I shall only name two. The first reason is, the King will 
never humble himself as he ought ; the other is, the Queen cannot per- 
ceive any one nobleman speaking with the King, but presently she 
suspects some contrivance among them."$ 

At this very time the busy brain and black heart of Lething- 
ton were teeming with projects to sever this ill-starred alliance. 
In conjunction with Bothwell and Murray, he held a conference 

* " By what I could wring further of her own declaration to me, the root 
of it is the King." — Lethington to Archbishop Beatoun, October 24, 1566. 
f Keith, Appendix, p. 133. 
X Monsieur de Croc to Archbishop Beatoun, December 2, 1566. 



78 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

at Craigmillar with Huntly and Athol, and afterwards laid before 
the Queen their joint design. This was, to unite their efforts to 
procure a divorce between her and her husband. Pretexts were 
not wanting. Darnley's infidelity might be alleged ; or his 
relation within the forbidden degrees of kindred might, notwith- 
standing the dispensation for it, afford a plausible, or at least in 
that age no unusual ground. Lethington also stipulated as a 
preliminary for the pardon of the Earl of Morton and his con- 
federates in England. To these proposals, when laid before her, 
Mary declared that she was willing to agree, under the conditions 
that the process of divorce should be legal, and its effect not pre- 
judicial to the rights of her son. It was then remarked, that 
after the divorce it would be better that Darnley should live in 
a remote part of the country, at a distance from the Queen, or 
retire to France. Upon this Mary, relenting, drew back from 
the proposal, expressed a hope that he might return to a better 
mind, and declared her own willingness rather to pass into 
France herself, and remain there, till he acknowledged his faults. 
Hereupon Lethington made this remarkable reply : — 

" Madam, soucy* ye not we are here of the principal of your Grace's 
nobility and council, that shall not find the mean well to make your 
Majesty quit of him without prejudice of your son ? and albeit that my 
Lord of Murray, here present, be little less scrupulous for a Protestant 
than your Grace is for a Papist, I am assured he will look through his 
fingers, and will behold our doings, and say nothing thereto." 

To these words Mary immediately answered the following : — 
" I will that ye do nothing whereby any spot may be laid to my 
honour or conscience ; and therefore I pray you rather let the matter 
be in the state it is, abiding that God of his goodness put remedy 
thereto, than that ye, believing to do me service, may possibly turn to 
my hurt or displeasure." 

" Madam," said Lethington, " let us guide the matter among us, and 
your Grace shall see nothing but good, and approved by Parliament."! 

Of this extraordinary conversation, which we have laid fully 
before the reader, it is certainly difficult, as Mr. Tytler observes, 
to determine the precise import. It appears to us that Lething- 

* A French word — se soucier: the meaning here is, " mind ye not," " do 
you not consider." 

f See Anderson's ' Collections,' vol. iv., part ii., p. 189. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 79 

ton, in his second proposal, intended to hint at a murder, but in 
terms so dark and ambiguous that he might be able, if he found 
it misliked, to shelter himself within the terms of his first design. 
In either case Mary's answer is clear and peremptory : an ex- 
press command to do nothing that might affect her honour or 
conscience, and a threat of her displeasure. Upon this Lething- 
ton appears to avail himself of the subterfuge he had provided, 
and reverts to his first project of divorce, promising the Queen 
that she shall " see nothing but good, and approved by Parlia- 
ment,'* which an assassination could never be. So far therefore 
as this conversation goes, it must at its close have left Mary 
under the impression that her advisers would endeavour to frame 
a scheme of divorce, without injury to her son, and with the 
approbation of her Parliament. 

Lethington, however, had private motives of his own for pre- 
ferring a scheme of murder to a scheme of divorce. The latter, 
with approbation of Parliament, and with a public recognition of 
the young Prince's rights, could only be obtained by uniting his 
efforts with a majority of other nobles and statesmen, and thus 
giving them an equal or superior claim to the favour of the 
Queen. Nor would they certainly have approved a divorce 
without some pledge or intimation as to the Queen's re-marriage, 
and the choice of her future husband ; and it appears probable 
that the larger number — at all events the great party of the 
Hamiltons — would have insisted, as afterwards at Lochleven, on 
a son of the Duke of Chastelherault. If, on the other hand, 
Darnley were removed by murder, especially in such a manner 
as to implicate the fair fame of the Queen, it would bind her 
indissolubly in interest to the statesmen who planned or the 
suitor who perpetrated it, and enable them ever afterwards to 
maintain the leading part in her councils. But besides and 
above these motives of crooked policy, there was also, it would 
seem, an impulse of savage vengeance. Darnley 's conduct after 
the death of Riccio had touched to the quick his betrayed con- 
federates : " the consequence," says Mr. Tytler, speaking of 
May, 1566, " was the utmost indignation and a thirst for revenge 
upon the part of Morton, Murray, Lethington, and their associates, 
which, there is reason to believe, increased in intensity till it was 
assuaged only in his death." Both well, whose temper always 



80 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



inclined him to violence rather than to cabals, was easily induced 
to concur in these views for his own aggrandisement, as also 
Huntly and Argyle ; but Murray — honourably, shall we say, or 
only cautiously ? — appears to have stood aloof from the rest ; con- 
tent that his schemes of vengeance should be wrought out by 
other hands. The Queen's rising passion for Bothwell, which 
could be no secret to any of the statesmen at Craigmillar, might 
embolden them to act not only without her previous knowledge, 
but against her express command. They might suppose that, 
when once the deed was done, they should easily succeed, either 
in disarming her resentment, or diverting her suspicions from 
themselves. 

According to the ferocious custom of those times, a " band " 
or agreement for the murder of Darnley was prepared : it is said 
to have been written by Sir James Balfour, then a follower of 
Bothwell, and signed by Lethington, Huntly, Argyle, and Balfour 
himself, the instrument being then deposited in Bothwell's hands. 
It declared their determination that the King, as i( a young fool, 
and proud tyrant, should not reign nor bear rule" over them; 
that therefore he must be cut off, and that they should all stand 
by each other and defend the deed.* 

From Craigmillar, the Queen, utterly unconscious of these 
infamous designs that were soon so deeply to affect her own peace 
and fame, proceeded to Stirling for the baptism of her infant 
son. She had requested her " good sister " of England to be the 
godmother. Elizabeth despatched the Earl of Bedford as her 
ambassador, and appointed the Countess of Argyle (Mary's ille- 
gitimate sister) as her representative. The ceremony took place 
on the 17th of December, with much magnificence. It was per- 
formed by the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, according to the 
Roman Catholic ritual, and the Royal infant received the names 
of Charles James. But the King, although he was then living 
in the palace, was absent from the ceremony. Let us here again 
borrow the words of an impartial eye-witness : — 

* The existence of this " band " is proved mainly by the confession of the 
Laird of Ormiston, taken at Edinburgh Castle, December 13, 1573, previous 
to his execution as an accessary to the murder. Ormiston saw the " band " 
in the hands of Bothwell, who showed him the signatures. See also Lord 
Herries's answer at York. — Goodall, Appendix, vol. ii. p. 212. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 81 

"The King," writes the French ambassador, " had still given out that 
he would depart two days before the baptism ; but when the time eame 
on he made no sign of removing at all, only he still kept close within 

his own apartment His bad deportment is incurable ; nor can 

there be any good expected from him The Queen behaved herself 

admirably well all the time of the baptism, and showed so much ear- 
nestness to entertain all the goodly company in the best manner, that 
this made her forget, in a good measure, her former ailments. But I 
am of the mind that she will give us some trouble as yet ; nor can I be 
brought to think otherwise, so long as she continues so pensive and 
melancholy. She sent for me yesterday, and I found her laid on a bed 
weeping sore, and she complained of a grievous pain in her side." * 

On the 24th of December the Queen set out to pass the Christ- 
mas festivities at Drummond Castle. She had signed on the day 
before an Act confirming or enlarging the consistorial jurisdiction 
of the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, probably w r ith a view to her 
own desired divorce. | Another Act, which about this time the 
Queen granted to the renewed entreaties of Bothwell and his 
confederates, including, on this occasion, Murray, and seconded 
by Bedford the English ambassador, was a pardon to the Earl of 
Morton and the other exiles in England, for the murder of 
Riccio, to the number of seventy-six persons. Besides their 
bitter hatred of Darnley, Bothwell trusted to find them grateful 
friends to himself for his intercession, and ready auxiliaries in his 
flagitious schemes. Accordingly when in January, 1567, Mor- 
ton was on his road to Edinburgh, and had taken up his resi- 
dence at Whittingham, the seat of his kinsman Archibald 
Douglas, he was joined there by Lethington and Bothwell. The 
object of their visit was immediately explained in the presence 
of Douglas, Bothwell declaring their determination to murder 
the King, and adding, as an inducement to Morton to join the 
plot, that it had the Queen's consent. This proposal was, how- 
ever, declined by Morton, not so much from any feelings of 

* Monsieur de Croc to Archbishop Beatoun, December 23, 1566. Sir 
John Forster writes to Cecil, December 11th, — " The Earl of Bothwell is 
appointed to receive the ambassadors, and all things for the christening are 
at his Lordship's appointment." 

f Compare Whitaker (vol. iii. p. 370, &c.) and William Tytler (vol. ii. 
p. 401) with a note in Laing's Appendix, No. 2. It is a branch of this con- 
troversy moi'e perplexing than important, how far the Archbishop's consis- 
torial jurisdiction had or had not been curtailed by the Reformation. 

G 



82 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

horror — which indeed would scarcely have beseemed the planner 
of Riccio's death, — but because, he said, he was unwilling to 
engage in new troubles when he had scarcely got rid of the old. 
Again in a second interview, Bothwell and Lethington renewed 
their importunities, and again they urged that all was done at 
the Queen's desire. " Bring me, then," said Morton, " the 
Queen's hand-writ of this matter for a warrant, and then I shall 
give you an answer." This hand-writing Bothwell and Leth- 
ington were never able to produce.* Soon afterwards they sent 
back Archibald Douglas with this message : — " Show the Earl 
Morton that the Queen will hear no speech of that matter ap- 
pointed unto him.""!* This seems to indicate that, so far from 
their former fictions of the Queen's consent, they durst not even 
name the project in her presence ; nor can we concur with Mr. 
Lainof in thinking that what Morton demanded was a formal 
warrant under the Queen's hand, commanding the murder, 
which even a guilty party to the crime would be restrained in 
prudence from granting.^ The words of Morton to Lethington 
and Bothwell seem rather to import, that if he should see the 
Queen's approbation of which they spoke, confirmed in her own 
hand- writing, he should consider that a proof of their word and 
an authority for his conduct. And if, as is affirmed by Mary's 
accusers, there had been expressions in her letters to Bothwell 
previous to the murder, clearly proving her participation, Both- 
well would no doubt have show r n them to Morton in the hopes 
of obtaining a co-operation of which he was evidently most 
desirous. 

The pardon granted by the Queen to Morton and his brother 
exiles was most unwelcome to the King, who regarded these his 
old confederates as now his mortal enemies. In token of his 
displeasure he abruptly left the Court at Stirling, and took up 
his residence with his father Lennox at Glasgow. Soon after- 
wards he was seized with an illness so sudden and so violent, that 

* The authority for these interviews is the confession of the Earl of Mor- 
ton, June 2, 1581, the day before his execution. It is observed by Kobert- 
son as a proof of the ferocity of these times, that Morton, in this his dying 
confession, speaks of " David's slaughter' 1 as coolly as if it had been an 
innocent or praiseworthy deed. 

f Letter of Archibald Douglas to Queen Mary, April, 1586. 

j Laings ' Dissertation/ vol. i. p. 28. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 83 

it gave rise to rumours of poison, but unjustly, for ere long the 
symptoms of the small-pox became clear and manifest. The 
Queen immediately despatched her own physician to attend 
him,* but in other respects showed as little concern for his 
danger as he had for hers at Jedburgh ; nor indeed, consider- 
ing his conduct since his marriage and her own growing pas- 
sion for Bothwell, can it be supposed that she offered up any 
very ardent vows for his recovery. From Drummond Castle 
she removed to Tullibardine, and from Tullibardine to Stirling, 
where she remained a fortnight, and where Lethington was mar- 
ried to one of her Marys, j Meanwhile, the King, after several 
days of imminent danger, was gradually recovering, but still 
remained in a feeble and languishing condition. During his 
convalescence he appears to have reverted to his foolish schemes ; 
or at least his former conduct exposed him to the imputation of 
them. It was reported, though we believe without foundation, 
that he entertained a project for crowning the young prince and 
seizing the government. The Queen was also informed, on more 
certain authority, that he had resumed his design to quit the 
kingdom ; that an English vessel was already hired for this pur- 
pose, and lay in the river Clyde ready to receive him.J " It 
was this," observes Eobertson, " that Mary chiefly dreaded." 
His flight at this period would not only have tarnished her good 
name abroad, and exposed her to foreign interference, but would, 
by removing Darnley beyond the sphere of her influence, have 
lost all chance of either persuading or compelling his acquies- 
cence in any proceedings before Parliament and before the con- 
sistorial courts for a divorce. Bothwell also, conscious of his 
meditated crimes, would have seen them baffled, or at least 
delayed, by Darnley's departure, and might easily urge the 
Queen to prevent it without using any views 'or arguments ex- 
cept her own. Mary resolved to employ the same means as she 

* Earl of Bedford to Cecil, January 9, 1567. 

f When, in 1548, Mary, then " a beautiful infant in her ninth year," was 
sent to France, " there embarked with her four Marys, children of a like 
age and name with herself, selected as her playmates from the families of 
Fleming, Beatoun, Seyton, and Livingston" (Tytler's ' History,' vol. vi. 
p. 53). See also the fine old ballad of ' The Queen's Marie,' in the ' Border 
Minstrelsy,' with Sir Walter Scott's illustrations (vol. iii. p. 294. Edition 
1833). 

% Keith, Pref. viii.j and Robertson's ' History.' book iv. 

g2 



84 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

had before, in October, against the very same design — affectionate 
entreaties and dutiful expressions to her husband. It seemed 
necessary, however, as the only safeguard against a third and 
more effectual scheme of flight, that he might be brought to fix 
his residence at or near her own Court. "With such views did 
she set forth (January 22nd, 1567) to visit him at Glasgow. 
There seems no reason whatever to believe that any overtures of 
reconciliation on her part at this time could be sincere ; nothing 
had occurred to make them so, and only two days before she had 
written to her ambassador in France, inveighing against the 
King's conduct in terms of much severity.* 

On the 23rd of January the Queen arrived at Glasgow : and 
it is from thence that the first two of her alleged letters to Both- 
well are said to have been written. We shall hereafter advert 
to the much debated question of their authenticity ; at present 
we will only observe that the first contains the following words 
as to the real object of her journey : — " In the end I asked him 
whether he would go in the English ship ? He doth disavow it, 
and sweareth so, but confesseth to have spoken with the men." 
It would seem, however, that Darnley's wayward temper had 
been softened by his sickness. When Mary first came to see 
him in his chamber, he hastened, after the first greetings, to 
profess his deep repentance for his errors, pleading his youth and 
his ill-advisers. After some further conversation Mary proposed 
that he should return with her to Craigmillar, adding that, as he 
was still but little able to travel, she had provided a litter for 
the journey. Darnley declared his readiness to accompany her, 
if she would consent that they should live together as before. 
She promised that it should be so hereafter ; but added that, in 
the first place, he must be thoroughly cleansed of his sickness, 
which she hoped he soon would be, as he must use the bath and 
a course of medicine at Craigmillar. We are persuaded, how- 
ever, that the Queen never sincerely intended the complete re- 
conciliation which she professed, but used this artifice to gain 
time and to prevent the embarcation. 

In pursuance of this conversation the Queen carried her hus- 
band by slow journeys from Glasgow to Edinburgh, where they 
arrived on the last day of January. As we have seen, she had 
* Mary to Archbishop Beatoun, January 20, 1567. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



intended Craigmillar for their residence ; but this purpose was 
now changed, and she conducted the King to a suburb called the 
Kirk of Field, occupied by the town residence of the Duke de 
Chastelherault and other houses and gardens. The house to 
which Mary and Darnley repaired had formerly belonged to 
some prebendaries, who were expelled at the Reformation, and 
the house was forfeited to the Grown ; but the Queen had lately 
granted it as a gift to Robert Balfour, a brother of Sir James, 
and one of Bothwell's creatures. In this house the Queen slept 
in a lower chamber, and the King in one immediately above it, 
with a bath, or rather a vat for bathing, adjoined. Their apart- 
ments were small and scarcely suited to the Royal dignity, yet 
the reasons assigned by Mary for not bringing Darnley at once 
to Holy rood seem clear and sufficient ; for, besides that the 
palace was judged, from its low site, to be unhealthy and little 
fitted for a man recovering from sickness, the young Prince re- 
sided there, and should not be exposed to the danger of infection 
from small-pox. At Craigmillar or at Kirk of Field the Queen 
and her physician might attend Darnley and yet not be far from 
her son. In like manner Mary's father, the late King, had once 
in his infancy been removed from Holyrood to Craigmillar for 
better air.* 

We must now advert to another train of events in the same 
month, which seems to connect itself with the conspiracy against 
Darnley, and which has been for the first time brought to light 
by Mr. Ty tier's labours at the State-Paper Office. It is still 
clouded over with doubts and mysteries ; but, so far as it goes, 
appears to us to afford a proof that the Queen was no party to 
the plot against the life of her husband. After the death of her 
unhappy secretary, David Riccio, his brother Joseph had been 
promoted by Mary to the vacant office. She had also another 
Italian gentleman in her household, named Joseph Lutyni, an 
intimate friend, it would appear, of Joseph Riccio. This Lutyni 
was now sent by Mary on a mission to France ; but he had only 
reached Berwick, when, on the 17th of January, she wrote to 
desire that he should be apprehended, as he was a thief and had 
absconded with money. Sir William Drury, who commanded 
at Berwick for Queen Elizabeth, appears to have found upon 
* Tytler's ' History,' vol. v. p. 127. 



86 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

Lutyni's person, or by some other means obtained, a secret letter 
which Lutyni had just received from his friend Joseph Riccio, 
and this letter Drury immediately forwarded to Cecil. It con- 
vinced himself that there was in agitation some great and im- 
portant secret, known both to Lutyni and to Riccio ; and, with 
reference to Mary's own anxiety for the seizing of Lutyni, he 
observes : — 

" I think, by what I can gather, that it is not the money the Queen 
seeketh so much, as to recover his person, for I have learned the man 
had credit there, and now the Queen mistrusteth lest he should offer his 
service here in England, and thereby might, with better occasion, utter 
something either prejudicial to her, or that she would be loth should 
be disclosed but to those she pleaseth."* 

Drury also found that Lutyni was accused of having pryed 
into the Queen's private papers, and the man himself appeared 
in the greatest alarm, affirming that, if he were sent back to 
Scotland, it would be to " a prepared death. "j In the result, 
Drury received orders from Cecil not to deliver up Lutyni at 
this time. Thus far then it may be supposed that the Queen 
suspected Lutyni of having seen among her private papers some 
letters from Bothwell to her, or from herself to Bothwell, and of 
having thus become privy to her guilty passion. But the con- 
fidential letter from Joseph Riccio to Lutyni seems to prove that 
there was a dark and portentous secret yet behind, known to 
themselves, but unknown to the Queen. Riccio informs Lutyni 
that the Queen had determined to examine him herself on his 
return ; that the matter was of life and death to themselves ; and 
that everything depended on his continuing to deceive the Queen, 
and adhering to the tale already told her. Here are Riccio's 
own expressions, as we translate them from the Italian : — 

" The Queen told me that she wishes to speak to you in secret. 
Take good care, then, to say to her what I wrote to you and nothing 
otherwise, so that our words may be found to agree with each other, 

and neither you nor I shall be in any trouble and I entreat you 

to have a merciful consideration of me, and not to become the cause of 
my death." 

Now, then, what could be this portentous secret — this secret 
to Mary herself — unless the impending conspiracy for Darnley's 
* Drury to Cecil, Jan. 23, 1567. f Ib id., Feb. 7, 1567. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 87 

murder ? On the theory of those who accuse her of participation 
in that crime, she was cognisant not only of the general design, 
but of each scheme and step as it proceeded : this indeed is the 
very basis of their argument. What further mystery could then 
remain, which, if even she suspected, she was not to be allowed 
to discover ? It is certainly possible, as Mr. Tytler suggests, 
that the letter may refer to some other state secret, unconnected 
with Both well or with Darnley : but, considering the dates, this 
is highly improbable ; and, on the whole, though admitting the 
circumstances to be obscure, we think them not easily to be 
reconciled, either with the Queen's innocence as regarding the 
adultery, or with her guilt as regarding the murder.* 

The conspiracy meanwhile was rapidly ripening. On the very 
day before the fatal event, the Earl of Murray left Edinburgh 
for St. Andrew's, on the pretence of visiting his wife, fully aware 
in all probability of the impending crime, but too cautious either 
to assist or to prevent it. The state of the plot just before its 
execution will best appear from a conversation between Bothwell 
and a foreign servant of the name of Nicholas Hubert, but more 
commonly known by the nickname of French Paris. This ser- 
vant, formerly his own, Bothwell had, some months before, pre- 
vailed upon the Queen to take into her household ; and now 
requiring his assistance, revealed to him the whole design. Paris 
remonstrated with him on the clanger: — " For every one," he 
said, " will forthwith raise a hue and cry against you, and so you 
will find." But here is Bothwell's reply : — 

" Why, fool that thou art," said he, " thinkest thou that T do all this 

alone by myself? I have already got Lethington, who is reckoned 

one of the shrewdest men of this country, and who is the undertaker 
of all this ; and after him I have got my Lord of Argyle, my brother 
Huntly, my Lord of Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay: these three last I 
am sure will never fail me, for I have spoken for their pardon, and I 



* The entire letter of Joseph Riccio is printed in Mr. Tytler's Appendix, 
p. 444. The subsequent steps of this transaction appear to strengthen our 
view of it. Joseph Riccio was publicly accused by Lennox as one of the 
murderers of his son — a presumption to what his previous secret referred. 
Lutyni was sent back to Scotland under a safe conduct, soon after Darnley's 
death ; Mary did not see him, but he was examined by Bothwell, by whom 
he was courteously dismissed, and the Queen sent him a small present 
(thirty crowns).— Drury to Cecil, Feb. 19 and 28, 1567. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



have all the signatures of those that I have mentioned ; but thou art a 
fool, and a poor-spirited creature, who art not worthy to hear anything of 
importance." — "But, Sir," said I, u as to my Lord the Earl of* Murray, 
I beg you to tell me what part he takes ?" — MyLord Bothwell answered, 
" He will take no part at all." — " Sir," I then rejoined, " he is wise." 
Then my Lord Bothwell turned back his head to me and exclaimed, 
" My Lord Murray ! my Lord Murray ! he will neither help nor hurt us ; 
but no matter, 'tis all one !"* 

This conversation is derived from the first confession of Paris 
before his execution as an accessary to the murder. We shall 
presently explain the different degrees of credit which appear due 
to his two confessions ; meanwhile we may observe that, ac- 
cording to this, Bothwell, though sufficiently unreserved in his 
confidence, drops no hint of participation or privity on the part 
of the Queen. 

We are now come to the last scene of this dark and appalling 
tragedy, and we will give it in the very words of Mr. Tytler : — 

" On Sunday, the 9th of February, Bastian, a foreigner, belonging 
to the household of the Queen, was to be married at Holyrood. The 
bride was one of her favourite women, and Mary, to honour their 
union, had promised them a masque. The greatest part of that day 
she passed with the King. They appeared to be on the most affec- 
tionate terms ; and she declared her intention of remaining all night at 
the Kirk of Field. It was at this moment, when Darnley and the 
Queen were engaged in conversation, that Hay of Tallo, Hepburn of 
Bolton, and other ruffians, whom Bothwell had hired for the purpose, 
secretly entered the chamber which was under the King's, and depo- 
sited on the floor a large quantity of gunpowder in bags. They then 
laid a train, which was connected with a 'lunt,' or slow match, and 
placed everything in readiness for its being lighted. Some of them 
now hurried away, but two of the conspirators remained on the watch : 
and, in the mean time, Mary, who still sat with her husband in the 
upper chamber, recollected her promise of giving the masque at Bas- 
tian's wedding, and taking farewell of Darnley, embraced him, and left 
the house with her suite. 

" Soon after the King retired to his bed-chamber. Since his illness 
there appeared to have been a great change in him ; he had become 
more thoughtful, and thought had brought with it repentance of his 
former courses. He lamented that there were few men whom he 
could trust ; and at times he would say that he knew he should be 



* First Confession of Paris, August 9, 1569. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 89 

slain ; complaining that he was hardly dealt with. But from these 
sorrows he had sought refuge in religion ; and it was remarked that, on 
this very night, his last in this world, he had repeated the 55th Psalm, 
which he would often read and sing. After his devotions he went to 
bed, and fell asleep ; Taylor, his page, being beside him in the same 
apartment. This was the moment seized by the murderers, who still 
lurked in the lower room, to complete their dreadful purpose ; but 
their miserable victim was awakened by the noise of their false keys in 
the lock of his apartment ; and, rushing down in his shirt and pelisse, 
endeavoured to make his escape, but he was intercepted and strangled, 
after a desperate resistance, his cries for mercy being heard by some 
women in the nearest house. The page was also strangled, and their 
bodies carried into a small orchard without the garden-wall, where they 
were found, the King in his shirt only, and the pelisse by his side. 

" Amid the conflicting stories of the ruffians, who were executed, it 
is difficult to arrive at the whole truth. But no doubt rests on the part 
acted by Bothwell, the arch- conspirator. He had quitted the King's 
apartments with the Queen, and joined the festivities in the palace, 
from which about midnight he stole away, changed his dress, and re- 
joined the murderers, who waited for him at the Kirk of Field. His 
arrival was the signal to complete their purpose ; the match was lighted, 
but burnt too slowfor their breathless impatience, and they were steal- 
ing forward to examine it when it took effect. A loud noise, like the 
bursting of a thunder-cloud, awoke the sleeping city : the King's house 
was torn in pieces and cast, into the air ; and the assassins, hurrying 
from the spot under cover of the darkness, regained the palace. Here 
Bothwell had scarcely undressed and gone to bed when the cry arose 
in the city that the Kirk of Field had been blown up, and the King 
murdered. The news flew quickly to Holyrood ; and a servant, rush- 
ing into his chamber, imparted the dreadful tidings. He started up in 
well-feigned astonishment, and shouted ' Treason !' He was joined 
next moment by Huntly, a brolher conspirator, and immediately these 
two noblemen, with others belonging to the Court, entered the Queen's 
apartments, when Mary was made acquainted with the dreadful fate of 
her husband. She was horror-struck, shut herself up in her bed- 
chamber, and seemed overwhelmed with sorrow." — vol. vii. pp. 81 — 84. 

After remaining for some days secluded in her chamber (frorr 
which the light of day was shut out), the Queen removed to the 
house of Lord Seyton, at no great distance from Edinburgh, 
accompanied by the same ministers as before — Bothwell, Argyle, 
Huntly, the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, and Secretary Lething- 
ton. " It is acknowledged by all," says Dr. Lingard, " that the 



90 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

Queen acted at first as an innocent woman would have acted." * 
This view of the case is controverted by Mr. Tytler, who im- 
putes "gay amusements" to the Court at Seyton. " Mary and 
Bothwell," says he, " would shoot at the butts against Huntly 
and Seyton, and on one occasion, after winning the match, they 
forced these Lords to pay the forfeit in the shape of a dinner at 
Tranent." For this, Mr. Tytler appeals to the authority of a 
letter from Drury to Cecil, of February 28, 1567, which he has 
published, from the State-Paper Office. But we do not find that 
it bears out his statement. The letter relates, amongst other 
gossip of the day, that the Queen, having to make a journey to 
Lord Whawton's house, stopped on the way to dine at Tranent, 
" where the Lord Seyton and the Earl of Huntly paid for the 
dinner, the Queen and the Earl of Bothwell having at a match 
of shooting won the same of them." But it is not stated whether 
this match had been recently played. And a previous passage 
of the same letter (written before the news of the Queen's 
journey in the latter part) proves that it was not ; for that Lord 
Seyton had not remained at his own house, and only joined the 
Queen upon the way : " The Lord Seyton is gone to Newbattle, 
having left the whole house to the Queen, so that she is there of 
her own provision." Unless, therefore, we suppose the Queen 
to have stopped short upon the journey to play a match with 
Lord Seyton as soon as she met him on the road, it is plain that 
the debt referred to must have been an old reckoning from some 
former game. These are trifles — but even in trifles we have 
been accustomed to find Mr. Tytler scrupulously accurate. 

On the Tuesday after the murder, the Queen had written to 
Paris an account of it, announcing the diligence which the Privy 
Council had already exerted to discover the murderers, and her 
resolution to exact a vigorous and exemplary vengeance, and 
alluding in terms of pious thankfulness to her own escape from 
the explosion. " Of very chance we tarried not all night by 
reason of a mask at the abbey, but we believe it was not chance, 
but God that put it in our head." Next day, a proclamation 
offered 2000/. reward to any that would come forward with in- 
formation. On the 15th, the body of Darnley was interred in 
Holyrood Chapel, but with great privacy, none of the nobility 
* History of England, vol. v. p. 245, 4to. edit. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 91 

attending the ceremony, and only one officer of state. From 
that time forward there appeared a complete remissness and 
apathy in seeking out the criminals and avenging the crime, 
although the Royal justice might have been quickened by several 
sl bills " or placards affixed at Edinburgh, which openly accused 
Bothwell, Balfour, and others, and even glanced at the Queen 
herself. Her own vindication would, therefore, become another 
motive for activity. It seems impossible to explain such remissness 
in Mary by any want of sense or spirit — she had given, and was 
soon to give again, abundant proof of both. If innocent, as we 
believe, of any foreknowledge or participation in the crime, she 
must surely at least have felt some curiosity and formed some 
conjecture. We can explain her conduct only on one of two 
suppositions. Some may think that, although shocked and sur- 
prised at the first tidings, she was speedily reconciled to a crime 
that freed her from a hateful bondage, and basely consented to 
screen the criminals, and, above all, the object of her guilty love. 
Others, again, inclined to a more favourable view of Mary's cha- 
racter, may believe that Bothwell exerted the ascendency which 
he already possessed over her heart and understanding to turn her 
suspicions into an erroneous channel, and divert it from the real 
criminals. On this theory they will perhaps conclude that 
Bothwell might be prone to direct her belief against Murray, 
his old enemy, who had lately refused to make common cause 
with him, and who, as we find, was afterwards accused by Mary 
as the murderer when put on her defence in England, although 
at the time we might conceive her reluctance to bring a brother 
to the scaffold. On any theory as to Mary's real feelings at that 
time we have not, and cannot expect, any positive proof ; we can 
only attempt to determine them on conjecture and on probability. 
The Queen's further conduct from this time we need but 
briefly glance over, as we find no difference of opinion upon it 
between her worst accusers and ourselves. They allege, and we 
admit, that it proves the most unbounded passion for her para- 
mour, but nothing further can be deduced from it, with regard 
to the murder of her husband : — In spite of the daily increasing 
rumours of Bothwell's guilt, he continued to enjoy an all-power- 
ful influence, and the most familiar intercourse with Mary. He 
received from her bounty the castle and lordship of Dunbar, the 



92 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



castle of Blackness, the superiority of Leith, and an enlargement 
of his office of High Admiral, while the government of Edin- 
burgh Castle was granted by his intercession to Sir James Bal- 
four, his confederate. The principal nobles kept aloof from the 
Court in disgust, and Murray, sagaciously watching the signs of 
the times, and prescient of the storm, obtained leave to quit the 
kingdom. When, at length, the complaints of Lennox and the 
clamours of the people rendered Bothwell's public trial for the 
murder unavoidable, that trial was hurried on with unseemly 
haste, and closed by a collusive acquittal. At the meeting of 
Parliament immediately afterwards, Both well was selected by 
the Queen to bear the crown and sceptre before her, and the 
three Estates were induced by her influence to confirm his ac- 
quittal and approve the conduct of the jury. On the very day 
when Parliament rose, the profligate favourite, having invited the 
chief nobility, both Protestant and Romanist, to supper, per- 
suaded or overawed them into signing a bond, which earnestly 
recommended " this high and mighty Lord " as a suitable husband 
for the Queen. " Whatever is unhonest reigns presently in our 
Court," writes Kirkaldy of Grange ; " God deliver them from 
their evil ! "* 

Wholly resigning herself to her strong and shameful passion 
for a most unworthy object — "mon cceur, mon sang, mon time, 
et mo?i souci" as one of her alleged sonnets calls him — Mary 
readily admitted, perhaps even actively pressed, all the remaining 
steps to attain a speedy marriage. A divorce between Bothwell 
and his Countess, Lady Jean Gordon, was hurried through in 
headlong haste, with her own consent and her brother's, on the 
ground of consanguinity within the forbidden degrees^ — the 
same pretext probably which the Queen had designed to take 
with respect to Darnley. A pretext seemed also wanting to 
palliate her own immediate marriage with the man so lately 
arraigned as her husband's murderer. To afford this, as, on the 

* To the Earl of Bedford, April 20, 1567. 

f We may observe, in passing, that Lady Jean Gordon seems to have been 
a lady of much prudence ; she was re-married to the Earl of Sutherland and 
after his death to a third husband, and survived till 1629, but retained till 
her death her jointure out of Bothwell's estate. See a note to Laing's ' Dis- 
sertation,' vol. i. p. 346. Mary's alleged ' Sonnets ' show extreme jealousy 
of her. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 93 



24th of April, the Queen was returning from a visit to the 
Prince her son at Stirling, she was seized at Almond Bridge, 
near Edinburgh, by Bothwell, with a party of his friends, and 
carried with a show of violence to his castle of Dunbar. When 
one of her attendants on this occasion, Sir James Melvil, remon- 
strated against such usage, he was secretly informed by one of 
Bothwell's servants that all had been done with the Queen's own 
consent.* But it has since been vehemently urged in her vindi- 
cation — how truly let the reader judge — that her approaching 
marriage was owing solely to the force which was used against 
her at this time. A few days afterwards she returned with Both- 
well to the capital, and appeared restored to liberty. She sum- 
moned the Chancellor, judges, and nobility to the Hi^h Court of 
Edinburgh, and declared before them that, though at first in- 
censed at the Earl's presumption in the seizure of her person 
she had forgiven him his offence in consequence of his subsequent 
good conduct, and that she intended to promote him to still 
higher honours. Accordingly, on the same day she created him 
Duke of Orkney, placing with her own hands the coronet upon 
his head, and on the 15th of May she was married to him at 
Holyrood House. The spectators observed that Mary was again 
attired in her mourning weeds. 

It is remarkable how very far from joyful to the unfortunate 
Mary were even the first moments when even her own earnest 
wishes were fulfilled; how truly she was "cursed with every, 
granted prayer ;" how little the pageants or the tournays of the 
day could soothe her wounded spirit ; how soon Bothwell's pas- 
sionate and brutal temper recoiled upon herself. " To those old 
friends," says Mr. Tytler, "who were still at Court, and who 
saw her in private, it was evident that, though she still seemed 
to love him, she was a changed and miserable woman." A letter 
derived by Mr. Tytler's industry from the secret archives of the 
House of Medici, at Florence, sets this fact beyond a doubt. 
M. de Croc, the French ambassador, writes as follows on the 18th 
of May to the Queen Dowager, Catherine de' Medici : " Thurs- 
day " (this was the 15th, the very day of the marriage) — 

" Thursday last 1 was sent for by her Majesty, and saw then things 
prevail in strange fashion between herself and her husband, which she 

* Melvil's ' Memoirs,' p. 80. 



94 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

attempted to excuse to me, saying, that if I saw her melancholy it was 
because she was determined not to rejoice — that she never would again ? 
and that she wished for nothing but death. Yesterday, when she and 
the Earl of Bothwell were alone together in a cabinet, she called aloud 
for a knife wherewith to kill herself! Those attendants who were in 
her chamber, to which the cabinet adjoins, heard her distinctly. They 
think that if God be not her helper she will sink into utter despair. I 
have advised and comforted her to the best of my ability in the three 
interviews which I have had with her. Her husband has no long span 
before him, for he is too much hated in this country, and besides, people 
will never cease bestirring themselves until the authors of the King's 
death be disclosed. There is not here a single man of high name, 
except the aforesaid Earl of Bothwell and the Earl of Craufurd ; the 
others have been summoned, but will not come." 

A formidable confederacy was, indeed, already formed against 
her, on the ground of avenging the murdered King, and protect- 
ing the young Prince, whom, it was alleged, Bothwell intended 
to s^ize and put to death. Morton, Mar, Lindsay, Grange, and 
many more, with their retainers, appeared in arms ; several of 
Bothwell 's accomplices in the crime, such as Huntly and Argyle, 
forsook him for their own security ; and even the secretary, 
Lethington, the contriver of the whole, fled from Court and 
joined the ranks of the confederates. Mary and Bothwell, how- 
ever, having mustered an army, advanced from Dunbar, and 
encamped on Carberry Hill. But her own troops began to 
waver when in sight of the confederates (June 15, 1567) ; and 
Mary was induced to trust their solemn promise, conveyed 
through Grange, that if she would leave the Earl of Bothwell 
(whose retreat to Dunbar they had already intercepted) they 
would receive and obey her as their sovereign. Mary, ever 
prone to act on the impulse of the moment, agreed to these 
terms, and came forward to the ranks of the confederates, while 
Bothwell was allowed to ride off the field by the very men who 
had declared his punishment to be the main object of this rising. 
Their promises to Mary were broken even before the sun of that 
clay had set : far from being obeyed as a sovereign, she was de- 
nounced as a murderess, and treated as a captive. 

" Her spirit, however," observes Mr. Tytler, " instead of being sub- 
dued, was rather roused by their baseness. She called for Lindsay, 
one of the fiercest of the confederate barons, and bade him give her his 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 95 



hand. He obeyed. ' By the hand,' said she, ' which is now in yours, 
I '11 have your head for this.' Unfortunate princess! When she spoke 
thus, little did she know how soon that unrelenting hand, which had 
been already stained with Riccio's blood, would fall still heavier yet 

upon herself! 

"Next day a hurried consultation was held ; and in the evenino- she 
was sent a prisoner to LocRleven, a castle situated in the midst of a lake 
belonging to Douglas, one of the confederates, and from which escape 
was deemed impossible. In her journey thither she was treated with 
studied indignity, exposed to the gaze of the mob, miserably clad, 
mounted on a sorry hackney, and placed under the charge of Lindsay 
and Ruthven, men of savage manners even in this awe." 

We may add, that, amidst danger and disgrace, her passion 
for Both well continued unabated. " She saith " — here we quote 
a letter of Throckmorton, the English ambassador — "that if it 
were put to her choice to relinquish her crown and kingdom or 
the Lord Bothwell, she would leave her kingdom and dignity to 
go as a simple damsel with him."* 

A few days afterwards, the confederates, having intercepted 
one of Bothwell's servants, named Dalgleish, on his way from 
Edinburgh Castle, became possessed of a silver casket which 
Bothwell had deposited in the fortress for security, and which 
contained, as is alleged, some secret letters and sonnets which 
Mary had addressed to her paramour. At a later period Sir 
James Balfour having surrendered the castle to the confederates 
they also obtained the original Band, signed by Lethino-ton and 
others, for the murder of the King : but Lethington, who was 
now high in power, and anxious to conceal his own and his 
friends' participation in the crime, hastened to commit the tell- 
tale document to the flames. This important fact, which is new 
to the controversy, has been elicited by Mr. Tytler from a pri- 
vate despatch which Drury addressed to Cecil on the 28th of 
November, 1567. With regard to the letters and sonnets, their 
authenticity has been loudly and long denied, and as loudly 
and long asserted. Every sentence, every word they contain 
has become a topic either for cavil or for confirmation. On this 
often debated and re-debated question we are happy to find the 
opinion which we had formed entirely concur with that which 
Mr. Tytler has expressed. Like him, we have little doubt that 
* Sir N. Throckmorton to Queen Elizabeth, July 14, 1567.. 



96 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



some letters from Mary to Bothwell did really fall into the hands 
of her enemies ; nay. we will go farther, and say we have little 
doubt that far the greater part of the letters and sonnets now 
produced were really hers. But the originals have long since 
disappeared under suspicious circumstances ; and " the state," 
says Mr. Tytler, " in which the copies (or rather the transla- 
tions) have descended to our times is evidently garbled, altered, 
and interpolated, and renders it impossible for any sincere in- 
quirer after the truth to receive such evidence." Let it only be 
considered for a moment how strong was the temptation, how 
great the facility, for interpolation, and how little scrupulous 
were the men who may be suspected of that baseness. According 
to our previous narrative it is plain that the Queen's secret 
letters to Bothwell must have contained abundant proofs of her 
blind infatuation for him, but none of any foreknowledge or par- 
ticipation in Darnley's death. Now the former proofs would 
not have sufficed for the object of her enemies, as not affording 
an adequate legal ground for her deposition. How important, 
then, for the new Regent and his partisans to forge what they 
could not find ! Nay, we even think we can discern the precise 
place where the principal interpolation was effected, — in the 
second half of the first letter. This letter, being, as is alleged, 
written in great haste, and late at night, seems to have degene- 
rated, at its close, to a scrawl unlike the Queen's usual hand. 
It contains these phrases : " Excuse me if I write ill ; you must 
guess one-half." And again, " Excuse my evil writing." We 
find, also, that this letter, which is of great length, extended 
over several detached pages or loose pieces of paper, on which 
some memoranda of the Queen had been already noted. Was it 
not easy, then, even for the least skilful forger, while preserving 
the earlier pages of the letter, to subtract the last, and substitute 
others, presenting nearly the same hasty and half illegible cha- 
racters, but containing, besides, some distinct allusions to the 
murder ? Such allusions we accordingly find, heaped together in 
this part of the first letter, full, frequent, and repeated — palpable 
interpolations, as we think them — while scarce any such appear 
elsewhere, either in the sonnets or in the remaining correspondence. 
But further still, it is only this explanation that can, as we 
conceive, render clear the subsequent conferences at York and 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 97 

Westminster. In these it will strike any impartial inquirer that 
there appeared a strange reluctance and hesitation on both sides 
— both apparently labouring under some uneasy consciousness. 
There was neither on the one side a free and ready production 
of the documents, nor yet on the other a constant and clear 
denial of them. From hence, as Mr. Tytler remarks, some 
points in these conferences may be justly urged against Mary's 
character, and others as justly in its favour. Now if the letters 
were either wholly authentic or wholly fabricated, we surely 
should not find the same timidity in both the contending parties. 
"We can only explain it by the general authenticity but partial 
interpolation of these papers — Mary unwilling to acknowledge 
the expressions of her guilty passion — and Murray unable to 
establish the expressions of her murderous connivance. 

It might not be difficult, we fear, to give other instances of 
such interpolations and suppressions in that age, even on much 
less temptation, and from statesmen of far higher honour than 
was ever ascribed to Morton or to Murray. — In 1586 the Earl 
of Leicester wrote a despatch from the Netherlands to Queen 
Elizabeth, so imprudently expressed for his own interest, that 
the Lords of the Council, on receiving it, resolved to keep 
it back from her Majesty : but in a few days, " finding her 
Majesty in such hard terms for your Lordship not writing to 
herself .... they conferred of the letter again, and blotting out 
some things which they thought would be offensive, and mend- 
ing some other parts as they thought best," — laid it before their 
Royal Mistress.* — Nay more, we can bring a similar case home 
to Morton himself — the very man accused of tampering with 
Mary's letters — and this case shall rest upon his own avowal. 
In 1571 a letter from the King of Denmark, relating to Both well 
and addressed to the Regent Lennox, fell into the hands of 
Morton. Queen Elizabeth requested to see it, but the Scottish 
Earl, finding in it some things more likely " to injure than 
further " the cause, withheld the original, and gave a copy in 
which he omitted what he thought " not meet to be shown !" | 

There are two other documents which Mary's advocates no 

* Thomas Duddeley to the Earl of Leicester, February 11, 1586, printed 
in the Hardwicke State Papers, vol. i. p. 298 — 301. 

t See the letter in Goodall, vol. ii. p. 382, dated March 24, 1571. 

H 



98 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

less loudly denounce as fabrications — the two dying confessions 
of the Frenchman, Paris, when executed as an accessary to the 
murder. Mr. Tytler's grandfather, in his Dissertation, has 
devoted a chapter to prove that these confessions were forged by 
Mary's enemies. We must own that we have not been con- 
vinced by his arguments. On the contrary, we hold with 
Robertson that these confessions " are remarkable for a sim- 
plicity and na'iveU which it is almost impossible to imitate ; and 
that they abound with a number of minute facts and particulars 
which the most dexterous forger could not have easily assembled 
and connected together with any appearance of probability." 
But though we do not doubt that these confessions were really 
spoken by the man whose name they bear, we are far from 
believing that this man always spoke the truth. His first con- 
fession was made on the 9th of August, 1569 — " without being 
questioned, and of his own accord," as we find in the preamble, 
— and it appears an honest narrative of all he knew respecting 
the murder, dashed only with frequent flatteries and compliments 
to Murray, then Lord-Regent, which denote his hopes of pardon.* 
At the conclusion he states, " this is all that I know touching the 
aforesaid fact." In this confession there is abundant evidence 
against Bothwell as the author of the crime, but none against the 
Queen. It was, however, not against Bothwell, but against his 
mistress, that proofs were sought for by the party then in power. 
After this confession, therefore, they seem to have tampered with 
the prisoner's hopes of mercy, provided he should give evidence 
suited to their ends — perhaps even they may, as Robertson hints, 
have used or threatened " the violence of torture " — and thus on 
the next day Paris made a second confession, not freely and 
spontaneously, like the first, but when pressed and urged with 
inquiries. This second confession is filled with criminations of 
the Queen as a party to the murder, but with some particulars 
most improbable, and others clearly false, as has been not only 
shown by Whitaker and "William Tytler, but admitted by 
Robertson himself. In consequence, probably, of these crimi- 

* Thus, for instance, he puts into his own mouth, as a soliloquy at the 
time of Darnley's murder, " Oh, Monsieur de Morra {Murray}, tu es homme 
de Men, plat a Dieu que tu scus mon cceur," &c. Mr. Laing justly observes, 
" Such an artful intermixture of truth and flattery was extremely natural to 
one in Paris's situation." — Vol. ii. p. 35. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 99 

nations, the execution of Paris was deferred for some days 
further, while the pleasure of the Lord Regent and council was 
taken ; but the decision was unfavourable, and the miserable 
man " sufferit death by order of law" on the 16th of the same 
month. Surely under such circumstances there appears the 
strongest reason for assigning a very different degree of weight 
and authority to the two confessions. 

We pass over the subsequent events in Mary's life — the 
crowning of the baby prince as King — and the proclamation of 
Murray as Regent — nay, we even resist the temptation of in- 
serting Mr. Tytler's narrative of Mary's romantic escape from 
the island fortress of Lochleven, to which the private archives 
of the House of Medici have supplied some new and interesting 
facts. In like manner we forbear to tell how, on her escape, 
the nobles gathered round her banner — how that banner fell for 
ever on the field of Langside — how Mary fled into England 
from reliance on Elizabeth's friendship — and how, in after years, 
that reliance was requited. But we must again advert to our 
controversy on Darnley's murder. 

In corroboration, or at least in countenance, of the views we 
have taken of that question, we may appeal in some degree even 
to adverse authority. Dr. Robertson, though preferring and 
adopting the theory of Mary's guilt, distinctly admits, at the end 
of his Dissertation, that the theory of her innocence as regarding 
the murder would also be compatible with the proofs he has 
produced : — " In my opinion," says he, " there are only two 
conclusions which can be drawn from these facts ; one, that 
Both well, prompted by his ambition or love, encouraged by the 
Queen's known aversion to her husband, and presuming on her 
attachment to himself, struck the blow without having concerted 
it with her." The other conclusion is, that which Murray and 
his adherents laboured to establish, that " she was of the fore- 
knowledge, council, and devise of the said murder." The same 
alternative is also laid down by a most discerning and impartial 
historian of our own time — Mr. Hallam.* We will venture, 
however, to mention a few additional reasons, why of these two 
conclusions we adopt the former. 

* Constitutional History, vol. iii. p. 415. 

h2 



100 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

—j 

1. The previous high character of Mary in France, during 
her early years. There every testimony seems to concur in her 
praise. Throckmorton, an eye-witness, and no partial one, 
writes as follows to the council of England : — 

" During her husband's life there was no great account made of her, 
for that being under band of marriage and subjection of her husband, 
who carried the burden and care of all her matters, there was offered 
no great occasion to know what was in her. But since her husband's 
death she hath showed, and so continueth, that she is both of great 
wisdom for her years, modesty, and also of great judgment in the wise 
handling herself and her matters. And already it appeareth that some 
such as made no great account of her, do now, seeing her wisdom, both 
honour and pity her."* 

Without a long and needless array of testimonies we may 
mention that the shrewd and sarcastic Brantome, who had many 
opportunities of observing Mary, both in France and on her 
passage to Scotland, extols her for those very qualities most 
essential to the present controversy — a kindness and gentleness 
of heart — an unwillingness to inflict pain, and a horror of seeing 
it inflicted : — 

" This Queen was above all things mild and good. While she was 
aboard her galley she would never allow any of the galley-slaves to be 
struck or beaten even in the lightest manner ; and such were her ex- 
press directions to the officer on guard, for she felt deep compassion for 
the wretchedness of these galley-slaves, and her heart recoiled from it."f 

2. The subsequent conduct of Mary during her captivity in 
England. Here again we forbear from any length of details or 
accumulation of testimonies — we will give only one — very dif- 
ferent, certainly, from Brant6me, but perhaps not less in point. 
Here is the opinion upon Queen Mary of the great founder and 
high-priest of the Methodists : — " The circumstances of her 

* Throckmorton's despatch, Dec. 31, 1560; first printed from the State- 
Paper Office by Mr. Tytler. The device assumed by Mary on her first hus- 
band's death is curious, as a specimen of the quaint conceits of that time. It 
was a stalk of liquorice — whose root is sweet, but all the rest growing from 
the ground is bitter ; with the words Dulce meum terra tegit, " the earth hides 
my sweetness ! "-De Coste, < Eloges et Vies des Seines/ vol. ii. p. 257. 
Catherine de' Medici, on her widowhood, selected as her device a mountain 
of quick-lime, with rain-drops falling on it (in allusion to her tears) ; and 
the motto, Ardorem extinctd tesiantur vivere flammd ! — Brantome, GSuvres, 
vol. ii. p. 58. Ed. 1740. 

t Brantome, CEuvres, vol. ii. p. 146. Ed. 1740. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 101 

death are equal to those of an ancient martyr."* Shall we say, 
then, that her repeated and solemn declarations of innocence of 
any share in her husband's death are deserving of no weight ? 
Shall we hastily affix upon a woman, obtaining such high praise 
both before and since, the brand of an atrocious murder — a 
murder heightened by every circumstance of domestic treachery 
and false blandishments intended to betray — a murder not in 
haste and sudden anger, but calmly planned and plotted — the 
murder not merely of a hateful husband, but of his innocent 
page, who slept in the same apartment, and must have perished 
by the same explosion ? Shall we believe that a woman, who 
through life held fast the belief — however erroneously, yet still 
sincerely and devoutly — of one form of Christian faith, would 
add to such a crime as murder the horrible blasphemy of de- 
claring that " it was not chance but God " that had led her 
that night to Edinburgh, and saved her from the same death ? 
A guilty passion might, though not justify, yet explain her con- 
jugal infidelity ; but can it also render probable all these added 
atrocities ? 

3. Darnley's own mother, the Countess of Lennox, was at first 
vehemently prepossessed against Mary, as one of the authors of 
his murder ; but became convinced of her innocence, and entered 
Into friendly correspondence with her during several years before 
she died.f 

4. The bitter complaints against Darnley which Mary made 
to Archbishop Beatoun at Paris, in her letter of the 20th 
January, 1567, seem scarcely compatible with any sinister design 
<on her part to be executed a few days afterwards, since she must 
have felt the utter inutility of such reproaches against one who 
was so soon to be removed ; and have feared that they might 
afterwards afford a ground for suspicions against her. 

5. It seems to us that in this controversy several of the argu- 
ments employed by Mary's adversaries recoil upon themselves. 
Thus it is alleged against her as a strong ground of suspicion, 
that on arriving with the King at Kirk of Field, she directed a 
new bed of black-figured velvet to be removed from his apartment 

* Wesley's ' Journal,' May 11 ? 17G1. 

t See a letter in the Appendix to Mr. William Tytlers ' Dissertation/ 
vol. ii. p. 404. Ed- 1790. 



102 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

lest it should be soiled by the bath, and an old purple travelling- 
bed to be placed in its stead.* By her order, also, on the 
Saturday before the murder, a coverlet, — " which was pro- 
bably valuable," says Mr. Laing — was removed from her own 
bed ; and, Mr. Laing is pleased to add, " this single circumstance 
is decisive of her guilt."t Now we would readily put it to the 
common sense of any reader whether such facts as these do not 
rather tend to her innocence ? Can we conceive any woman — 
much less a sovereign — pausing on the verge of an atrocious 
murder to secure some household furniture from damage, and 
incurring the risk of suspicion on that account? There is a 
precedent of King Frederick the Second — Thiebault, we think, 
tells the story — who, seeing his nephew and presumptive heir fall 
from his horse in battle, cried out, " There is the Prince of 
Prussia killed ! Let his saddle and bridle be cared for !" But 
where shall we find another case of a Queen exclaiming, 
" Strangle my husband in his bed, but spare, oh spare the cur- 
tains and the coverlet !" 

6. No good answer has ever been returned to the following 
argument of our author's grandfather : — 

" It is obvious, that whoever were the perpetrators of this horrid 
affair (the murder of Darnley), one part of their plan, and a striking 
one, was to leave no room to doubt but that Lord Darnley must have 
died a violent death, and to proclaim to the whole world that he was 
murdered, and the murder conducted by persons in power. . . . Mary's 
supposed wishes might easily have been accomplished by Darnley's 
death without suspicion of violence. Darnley was at all times in her 
power ; he had long been in a languishing state of health after a dan- 
gerous malady. This was most favourable for her purpose. His sudden 
death, under these circumstances, would have been nowise surprising. 
.... As it is agreed by all the historians that he was suffocated, why 
not lest upon that? When Darnley's breath was stopped, her purpose 
was effected. Why, contrary to every consideration which common 
sense could dictate, should the Queen think of proclaiming this murder 
in the face of" day to all the world, attended with every circumstance of 
horror, and such as to fix suspicion on herself?" X 



* Laing's c Dissertation,' vol. i. p. 32. f Vol. ii. p. 36. 

X Dissertation by William Tytler, Esq., vol. ii. p. 82—85. Ed. 1790. The 
fact elicited since this author wrote, that the Queen's private " medecinar " 
had been sent to attend Darnley soon after his illness seized him, is im- 
portant, as proving the opportunities of poison. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 103 

We may add, that no persons could have derived any pos- 
sible advantage from such publicity and such suspicions, unless 
Lethrngton and his confederates of the " band," — and we learn, 
accordingly, from other quarters, that Lethington had been the 
first deviser of the whole design. 

7. The dying confession of Bothwell. On parting from the 
Queen at Carberry Hill, that daring ruffian had returned to 
Dunbar, from whence he sailed with several ships of war, and 
failing to make head in the north of Scotland, proceeded to the 
Orkneys, and was reduced to become a pirate for subsistence. 
A richly-laden vessel being attacked by him off the coast of 
Norway, the Norwegians came with armed boats to its defence, 
and after a desperate struggle Bothwell and his crew were taken 
prisoners. He was removed to a castle in Denmark, where he 
languished several years in close captivity ; and where, it is 
alleged, though the fact be controverted, that he lost his senses 
from despair.* His body became greatly swollen in the summer 
of 1575, and he died early in the ensuing year. If, however, 
his reason had wandered, it appears in his last days to have 
returned — a common case in the annals of insanity — and his 
remorse, we are assured, impelled him to a confession of his 
crimes, in which he acknowledged the murder of Darnley, but 
declared that the Queen had no participation in it. Some men 
might be suspected, while revealing their own guilt, of seeking 
to shelter the guilt of their accomplices ; but no such chivalrous 
motive can be believed of the selfish and reckless Bothwell, and 
we can only ascribe to him that penitence which in the hour of 
death can pierce even the most hardened hearts. The value of 
such a testimony to Mary's innocence was immediately discerned 
both by herself and by her enemies. On the 1st June, 1576, she 
writes as follows to Archbishop Beatoun, still her ambassador in 
France : — 

" Advices have reached me of the decease of the Earl of Bothwell, 
and that before his death he made a full confession of his misdeeds, and 
owned himself the guilty author of the murder of the late King my 
husband, from any share in which he expressly absolves me, making 

* That Bothwell became insane is asserted by De Thou, and the ' Sum- 
marium de Morte Marise,' published 1587, but denied by Blackwood and 
Turner in 1588. — Mr. Laing's Appendix, No. xxxi. 



104 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

oath on the salvation of his soul to my innocence. Now if this be so, 
his testimony would be of great import to me as against the false calum- 
nies of my enemies, and I therefore beg you to seek out the truth of it 
by what means you best can. The persons present at this declaration, 
which has since been signed and sealed by them in the manner of a testa- 
ment, are Otto Braw of the castle of Elcambre, Paris Brawof the castle 
of Vascut, M. Gullunstarne of the castle of Fulcenstere, the Bishop of 
Skon (Scania), and four Baillis of the town." 

On the 30th July Beatoun replies from Paris, that the intelli- 
gence of Bothwell's dying declaration has reached him also ; 
that the Queen- Mother has written to the French ambassador in 
Denmark to obtain a formal copy, and that he would wish to 
send an agent of his own, named Monceaux, but is prevented by 
want of money. And he adds, in another letter of January 4, 
1577 — -" Monceaux has refused to undertake the journey unless 
ready money were given him." On the 6th of the same January 
Mary writes again : — 

" I have had advices that the King of Denmark has transmitted to this 
Queen (Elizabeth) the testament of the late Earl of Bothwell, and that 
she has suppressed it in secret so far as she could. It seems to me that the 
journey of Monceaux is no longer needful for this object, since the Queen- 
Mother (Catherine de' Medici) has already, as you tell me, despatched 
a messenger of her own concerning it." 

We hear no further of Bothwell's confession since it was sup- 
pressed by Elizabeth ; but on Mary's execution it was confidently 
appealed to as one proof of her innocence, by Blackwood and 
Turner, and was allowed as an undoubted fact by Camden in his 
6 Annals.' Mr. Laing, however, has denied the reality of any 
such confession, on the ground that a pretended copy which was 
afterwards circulated is a palpable forgery, alluding, as it does, 
to Lord Robert Stuart, " now Earl of the Orkney Isles," 
which he was not created until August, 1581 ; so that Bothwell 
could never have called him so in 1576. But the appearance of 
a fabrication, where the original has been withheld, is no proof 
against the authority of that original. When Mary's partisans 
found the influence of Elizabeth exerted with the King of Den- 
mark to prevent the appearance of this unwelcome document, 
what could be more natural than an attempt at counterfeiting it, 
adding also the names of those whom Bothwell accused as his 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 105 

accomplices, but adding them not according to the truth, or to 
his statement, but according to their own interests or partialities 
when they devised the forgery? To this we must add what 
Mr. Laing has entirely overlooked, that the forged document 
does not purport to be a copy or transcript of the. original con- 
fession, but only a vague abridgment of it ; for the forged docu- 
ment concludes in these words : — " All this in a fuller shape (plus 
a pleiri) has been written in Latin and in Danish, and will some 
day come forth to light to establish (avere?-) the Queen of Scots' 
innocence." "We thought it possible that the original, or an au- 
thentic copy, might still be found among the Danish archives, 
and might become a valuable addition to our own. With this 
view one of the commissioners of the State-Paper Office * took an 
opportunity three years ago of calling the attention of Lord Pal- 
merston to this subject, and suggesting that our Minister at the 
court of Denmark might be instructed to inquire as to the pre- 
servation of this document. Although this suggestion came from 
a quarter opposed to Lord Palmerston in politics, it was received 
by his Lordship with the utmost courtesy and readiness : and he 
wrote accordingly to Copenhagen ; but the answer of Sir Henry 
Wynn gave little hope that a paper of that remote period could 
be now recovered. Perhaps, however, the document sent to 
Queen Elizabeth — whether original or copy — may yet lurk in 
some of the recesses of our own State-Paper Office. 

Mr. Laing has said that " the suffering innocence of Mary is a 
theme appropriated to tragedy and romance,"t a remark not 
strictly accurate, since the great dramatic poem founded on her 
fortunes proceeds upon the theory not of her innocence, but of her 
guilt. J But undoubtedly he is right in thinking that the influ- 
ence of poetry, or of feelings akin to poetry, has been favourable 
to this unfortunate princess. Even the most thorough conviction 
of her guilt could scarcely steel the breast against some compas- 

* The author of this Essay. 

f ' Dissertation,' vol. ii. p. 66. 

% " Ach eine friihe Blutschuld langst gebeiclitet 
Sie kehrt zuriick mit neuer schreckenskraft ; 
Den Konig, meinen Gatten, liess ich morden, 
Und dem Verfuhrer schenkt ich herz und hand ! " 

Schiller's ' Maria Stuart,' Act v. scene 7. 



106 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

sion for her fate. Who might not sigh as such a tale is told — 
how near and close allied are human sins and human sorrows — 
how fatal, through our own errors, may become the bright gifts 
of beauty, warm affections, and a throne ! Who that stands, as 
we have stood, on the green knoll of Fotheringay, with the 
neighbouring scenes yet unchanged ; the same small village 
clustered around us ; the same glassy river rolling by ; but no 
remains of the strong and grated castle beyond the swelling 
mounds and the darker verdure on the grass ; who that sees the 
quiet flock now feed on the very spot once all astir with the din 
of preparation, the mock-trial, and the bloody death, could forget 
that fatal 8th of February, when, amidst wailing attendants and 
relenting foes, the victim alone appeared stedfast and serene, and 
meekly knelt down to pray forgiveness " on all those who have 
thirsted, without cause, for my blood," and for a long life and 
peaceable reign to Elizabeth ! Some feelings of compassion at 
such an ending are not, we trust and believe, incompatible with 
zeal for historic truth. But if we are warned against poetry and 
pity on one side, shall nothing be said of prejudice upon the 
other ? Have we not in the case of Mary reversed, as it were, 
the Divine decree, and visited the sins, not of the fathers upon 
the children, but of the children upon the parent ? Have we not, 
because defending our liberties against Charles I., and our 
faith against James II., often considered the whole line from 
which they sprung as partakers of their fault or of our animo- 
sity ? Yet surely even the old, and, if you will, bigoted prin- 
ciple of Mary's partisans — the " ung roy, ung foy, ung loy," 
which was both the motto and maxim of Seyton — might shame 
some men who took, perhaps, a better part, but from less good 
motives — who held forth Liberly as a cloak for their own licence, 
and the Reformation as a pretext for Church plunder. Between 
these opposite extremes we would seek a more excellent way ; 
and if we might presume, in the place of many abler men, to pass 
sentence on Queen Mary, we would, even in the " poetry " with 
which every attempt at her defence is taunted, assume the 
images called forth by the mighty mind of Dante, and compare 
the different degrees in his terrible abyss. Let not Mary, then, 
be hurled with Eccelin orBothwell into the crimson Bulicame — 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 107 

the seething River of Blood ; nor, like Lethington, be rooted in 
the thorny forest, and torn by the Harpies* talons ; nor yet, like 
Morton, be weighed down by the deceiver's gilded robes : — 

" Ma dentro tutte piombo e gravi tan to 
Che Federigo le mettea di paglia." 

But, since we must still condemn her, though in less degree, let 
her wander beside the guilty but gentle shade of Francesca. She, 
too, might allege, not in pardon, but in pity, — 

" Amor, che al cor gentil ratto s' apprende, 
Prese costui della bella persona 
Che mi fu tolta." 

In conclusion, we must again thank the author before us for 
the pleasure and instruction we have derived from his pages. 
The son of Lord Woodhouselee, and the grandson of William 
Tytler, had an hereditary claim to the public favour; but this 
claim he has now established and augmented by merits of his own. 



108 LETTERS OF MARY, 



LETTERS OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. ^ 

[Qu. Rev., No. 153. December, 1845.] 7 : 7 /3 f 

JLettres, Instructions, et Memoires de Marie Stuart, Reine d' JEcosse ; publies 
sur les originaux et les manuscrits du State-Paper Office de Londres, et 
des principales archives et bibliotheques de l' Europe, et accompagnes d'un 
resume chronologique. Par le Prince Alexandre Labanoff. 7 vols. 8vo. 
Londres, 1844. 

Let it no longer be said that the age of chivalry has passed. 
We have here a Russian nobleman of high birth, who served 
with distinction in the campaigns of 1812, 1813, and 1814, 
attaining the rank of Major-General and of Aide-de-camp to 
the Emperor Alexander. But since the peace with his country's 
enemies he has, like a true knight-errant, sallied forth on adven- 
tures of his own. According to the best precedents of the Round 
Table, he has selected a princess whom he has never seen for the 
lady of his love ; he has devoted himself to her service for many 
years, and travelled in her cause from land to land ; until now, 
when armed with documents as with a shield of proof, he is pre- 
pared to maintain her peerless innocence, and to strive in champ 
clos against all gainsayers ! 

Seriously speaking, however, we think Prince Alexander La- 
banoff entitled to our warm thanks and hearty praise for the care, 
the application, and the skill with which he has elucidated the 
history of Mary, Queen of Scots. For a long period he has 
spared neither expense nor exertion in the discovery of her MS. 
correspondence. The archives of the House of Medici at Flo- 
rence and the Imperial collection at St. Petersburg, the Bib- 
liotheque Royale at Paris, the State-Paper Office in London, 
and a great number of private collections both in this country 
and on the Continent, each examined not through agents, but 
by his own personal research, have all yielded materials to his 
meritorious and never wearied industry. The result is, that to 
the 300 letters of Queen Mary which were already in print, 
though scattered through various compilations, he has added no 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. 109 



less than 400 hitherto unpublished, and all these, old and new, 
with several from other persons relating to her history, he has 
edited together in seven volumes, appending a chronological 
summary and suitable notes — so long that they sufficiently ex- 
plain, so brief that they never encumber, the text. 

It could scarcely, perhaps, be expected that all this zeal and 
research should be unattended with some degree of enthusiasm in 
behalf of its object. Prince Labanoff believes that Queen Mary 
was entirely innocent of the heavy charges which were brought 
against her. This opinion, though never argued at length, nor 
obtruded in any of the notes, is implied in several, and a sepa- 
rate Essay in proof of it is promised us before the close of the 
present year. We shall read that Essay, whenever it appears, 
with all the attention which the character and attainments of 
the writer deserve, though not without being on our guard 
against his prepossessions. Meanwhile we must declare that 
while several things in this collection confirm, there is nothing 
to shake or alter the view which we have formerly maintained 
on this much debated subject. "We still hold that via media 
which, as we think, combines in its support all the principal 
arguments from both extreme parties — that Mary was innocent 
of any participation in, or knowledge of, her husband's murder; 
but, both before and after it, was swayed by a guilty passion for 
Bothwell. 

After the length at which we argued these questions on a 
recent occasion, our readers will no doubt be better pleased if 
we do not take them again over the same ground. We shall 
now advert only to another controverted point, which appears to 
us of considerable interest. 

Prince LabanofF admits,* without hesitation, the statement 
that Queen Mary, when sent to the castle of Lochleven, in June, 
1567, was with child by Bothwell, and that in February, 1568, 
she gave birth to a daughter, who was immediately removed to 
France, and became a nun at the convent of Notre Dame at 
Soissons. 

Considering the marriage of Mary to Bothwell, in May, 1567, 
it is obvious that her character is in no way affected by this tale, 



* Vol. ii. p. 63, note. 



110 LETTERS OF MARY, 



whether true or false. On this point, therefore, Prince Labanoffs 
prepossessions in her favour have no force, and the judgment of 
so well-informed and laborious an inquirer deserves, as we think, 
the greatest weight. His assent to this tale has led us to inquire 
the grounds on which it rests ; and we shall now state what appear 
the testimonies in its favour, as well as the negative presumptions 
which may be raised against it. 

The statement rests mainly on the direct assertion of Le 
Laboureur in his additions to the ' Memoires de Castelnau,' and 
will be found at vol. i. p. 673, of the edition of 1659. Le La- 
boureur himself is a writer of great research and accuracy. He 
is described by M. Weiss in the Biographie Universelle as " one 
of the writers who have done most to throw light on the his- 
tory of France." And as Prince LabanofF reminds us, he held 
a post of high confidence at the Court of France (Conseiller 
et Aumonier du Roi), and might become acquainted with many, 
until then very secret transactions. But. if we believe, as appears 
most probably the case, that Le Laboureur derived the story from 
the MS. notes and papers left behind bv Castelnau, the evidence 
in its favour will appear stronger still. Michel de Castelnau, 
Seigneur de Mauvissiere (by which latter name he was commonly 
known during his life), had accompanied Mary as French Am- 
bassador to Scotland. In 1575 he was appointed French 
Ambassador in England ; and, as appears from Prince LabanofF's 
collection, became one of Mary's most frequent and most trusted 
correspondents. He says himself in his Memoirs, " She is still a 
prisoner, nor have any means been yet devised for her liberation 
without there forthwith arising some new and unforeseen difficul- 
ties, most of which have passed through my hands."* 

It appears also that in the course of his diplomatic and poli- 
tical services he had occasion to make many journeys through 
the north of France, and he might not improbably in one of 
them have seen himself, at Soissons, the unhappy offspring of a 
most ill-omened and most guilty marriage. 

There is, however, a remarkable confirmation of Le Labour- 
er's story, wholly unknown to Le Laboureur when he wrote, 
and not published until a century afterwards. It is contained in 



* Vol. xxxiii. p. 357, in the collection of Petitot. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. ill 



a secret despatch from Throckmorton, the English Ambassador 
in Scotland, to his Queen, and will be found in the Appendix to 
Robertson's History, under the date of July 18th, 1567. It 
appears that the Ambassador had transmitted by a secret channel 
a proposal to Mary at Lochleven, that she should renounce 
Bothwell for her husband. But he adds in his report to Eliza- 
beth, " She hath sent me word that she will rather dye, grounding 
herself upon thys reason, that takynge herself to be seven weekes 
gon with chylde, by renouncynge Bothwell she should acknow- 
ledge herselfe to be with chylde of a bastard, and to have for- 
fayted her honoure, which she will not do to dye for it." 

Nor can it, on examination of the circumstances, be maintained 
that this answer was only a device of Mary to evade compliance. 
She must have foreseen that, as really happened, the renouncing 
of Bothwell would be again and again pressed upon her, and that 
if her first reason against it should, after some short interval, 
appear to be invalid, she would then be unable to take a stand on 
any other ground. 

The concurrence of two such testimonies as Le Laboureur's in 
France and Throckmorton's in Scotland — each entitled to high 
confidence, and each without the slightest knowledge of the other 
— would probably on most questions be considered as decisive. 
In this case, however, we have to set against them a strong prima 
facie presumption on the other side — the utter silence as to this 
child at Soissons in all the correspondence of the period — the 
utter silence, first, of Mary herself; secondly, of all her friends; 
and thirdly, of all her opponents. 

We propose to consider, under each of these heads, whether 
any sufficient ground for such silence can be assigned. 

1. Mary herself had few opportunities of writing from her 
prison of Lochleven. Even the industry of Prince LabanofF is 
compelled to leave an utter blank between Sept. 3rd, 1567, 
when Mary wrote to Sir Robert Melville, desiring him to send 
stuffs for clothes for herself and " my maidens, for they are 
naked ;" and March 31st, 1568, when we find two notes, one to 
Catherine de' Medici and the other to the Archbishop of Glas- 
gow, entreating speedy succour, and adding " I dare not write 
further." There are two other short notes from Lochleven, 
on the day preceding her escape, one to Catherine de' Medici, 



112 LETTERS OF MARY, 



and one to Elizabeth. In none of these could we expect to find 
any allusion to her pregnancy or to the birth of her child. 

There is no letter at all from Mary during the hurried fort- 
night which elapsed between her escape from Lochleven and 
her arrival in England, except a few lines of doubtful authen- 
ticity, dated from Dundrennan, and addressed to Queen Eliza- 
beth, which we think Prince Labanoff has too hastily ad- 
mitted.* This note, however, in no degree bears upon the pre- 
sent question. 

Within a very few weeks of her captivity in England, Mary 
became convinced of the horror with which her union with Both- 
well was universally regarded. She consented, at the conferences 
of York, that steps should be taken for the dissolution of her 
marriage and for the contracting of another with the Duke of 
Norfolk. From that time forward, therefore, we need not 
wonder that her letters should contain no allusion to the pledge 
of an alliance which that pledge might, if known, render more 
difficult to dissolve, and which she knew was most hateful to all 
her well-wishers, whether in France, in England, or in Scotland. 

2. The same horror of this alliance and of its results may be 
thought an adequate motive for silence in such few of Mary's 
relatives or friends in France as must be supposed cognizant of 
the birth and existence of her daughter. 

3. Of Mary's enemies, the first in power at this period was her 
illegitimate brother, the Earl of Murray, the Regent of Scotland. 
During a long time he professed a tender regard for his sister's 
reputation, and several times warned her against urging him to 
the public accusation, which he made at last on December 8th, 
1568. It is therefore perfectly consistent with his professions 
and with his position, that he should in February, 1568, have 
taken steps for the concealment of Mary's childbirth, and the 
sending of the infant to her relatives in France. After Decem- 
ber, 1568, there could no longer indeed be the slightest pretence 
to personal kindness and regard. But surely the chances of the 
Royal succession would then supply him with another and much 

* The authority he cites for it is only ' Marie Stuart, Nouvelle Histo- 
rique,' Paris, 1674. Moreover, the note from Dundrennan is not alluded to 
in the certainly authentic letter which Mary addressed to Elizabeth from 
Workington only two days afterwards. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. ] 13 



stronger motive for concealment. In case the life of James VI. 
— -a boy not yet three years old — should fail, Mary's daughter, if 
the marriage with Bothwell were legitimate, would become the 
next heir to the Crown. A most perplexing question as to the 
strict validity of that marriage, and as to the rights of the true 
heir, would then arise. It seems probable, therefore, that in such 
a contingency Murray and his associates in the secret had re- 
solved to deny absolutely the fact of the birth or the existence 
of the infant. The same motive for the greatest possible secrecy 
would have weight all through the life of the nun at Soissons, 
but would cease at her death. And thus the same consideration 
would serve to explain both the silence observed during so many 
years, and the disclosure at last in Le Laboureur's annotation — 
always supposing the secret to have been confined, both in Scot- 
land and in France, to extremely few and trusty persons. 

We offer these conjectures as in our minds greatly diminishing-, 
though not, we admit, entirely removing, the force of the objec- 
tions against the story. And on the whole, looking to the posi- 
tive testimonies in its favour, we certainly incline, with Prince 
LabanofT, to a belief in its truth. 

There is nothing new in these volumes relative to the deathbed 
declaration of Bothwell. The discovery of the original, or of an 
authentic copy, is still among the desiderata of literature : of its 
real existence, as we have elsewhere stated, we do not entertain 
a doubt. We looked for some information on this subject in the 
8th volume of Mr. Tytler's History, published since our review 
of his 7th, but to our great surprise he gives no account whatever, 
so far as we can find, of the end of Bothwell. We know not how 
to explain such an omission in so minute a history and so careful 
a writer. Of Mr. Laing's ' Dissertation ' no passage is more 
open to reply than the one in which he cavils at the Earl's dying 
confession. " These names," he says, " are apparently fictitious. 
I believe there is no such town or castle as Malmay either in 
Norway or in Denmark."* This is literally true. But was it 
quite candid to omit the equally certain fact that, in 1575, the 
province of Scania, on the continent of Sweden, was an append- 
age of the Danish Crown, and that the citadel of Malmay or 
Malmoe, not indeed in Denmark Proper, but in Scania, nearly 

* History of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 338, note. Ed. 1819. 

I 



114 LETTERS OF MARY, 



opposite the coast of Copenhagen, was the place where Bothwell 
was confined ? 

We may add that we have doubts whether Both well's confine- 
ment in Denmark was so strict and rigorous as most histories 
allege. Such a statement appears scarcely compatible with the 
following expressions of a letter from Queen Elizabeth to the 
King of Denmark in 1570. "We translate from the Latin : — 

"As to Bothwell, we have already written of him to your Serene 
Highness as of one most certainly guilty of the murder of his King. 
We therefore trust, and again and again entreat of your Serene Highness, 
that the Earl who has committed so foul a crime may be kept in close 
prison and chains ; or what we should rather choose, and still more 
earnestly entreat, that he should be sent from his prison to take his trial 
and undergo his sentence at the same place where he committed his 
crime ; for it cannot be deemed honourable to any King that he should 
allow the murderer of another King to live at large and wander about 
with impunity."* 

Nor are we by any means confident in the common story that 
Bothwell on his imprisonment became insane. We suspect that 
this tale may have been devised with the view of discrediting his 
d^lthbed confession ; at least, so far as we remember, it is not 
mentioned by any writer until several years after BothwelFs 
death, and until the discrediting his statement had become a 
party object : yet so remarkable a fact as his insanity, which 
would be commonly held forth as a special judgment of Provi- 
dence against an atrocious criminal, was not very likely, even in 
his lifetime, to remain unnoticed. 

We shall now quit this thorny field of controversy, and enable 
our" readers to judge for themselves of the merits of Prince 
LabanofPs Collection, by laying before them some of the letters 
it contains. Of those which we shall select, the originals are all 
in French, and the less intelligible from their antiquated phrases 
and quaint old-fashioned form of spelling : we shall therefore 
the more readily attempt an English version of them. 

The following is a report of Le Croc, the French ambassador 
in Scotland, to Queen Catherine de' Medici : it is dated Sunday, 
May 18th, 1567 ; the preceding Thursday having been the very 
day of Mary's marriage to Bothwell. We have already, in our 

* Appendix to Mr. Laing's ' Dissertation, 1 vol. ii. No. xxix. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. 115 



previous essay, given an extract from this letter, showing how the 
unhappy Queen on the day but one from her marriage was heard 
in her anguish to call for a knife wherewith to kill herself.* The 
letter, after relating that the great Lords of the realm had been 
summoned to Court, but had refused to come, thus proceeds: — 

" The Queen has sent to them to desire that they would meet at any 
place that might be agreed upon, and wishes that I should go and speak 
to them in the name of the King my master, and see if I can prevail 
with them. If the occasion arises, I will do all that I can towards that 
end ; after which the best course for me will be to withdraw and keep 
aloof, and let them play out their game. It is not seemly that I should 
remain present during- these proceedings in the King's name : for if 1 
favour the Queen, it will be thought in this kingdom and also in England 
that the King is a party to all that is doing here ; and had it not been 
for the commands which your Majesties laid on me, I should have set 
forth from hence a week before the marriage. As it is, I spoke out and 
loudly, in pursuance of the wishes of this kingdom ; and I would not at 
all sanction this marriage with the Earl of Both well, nor have I since 
consented to acknowledge him as the Queen's husband. I believe that 
he will write to your Majesties by the aforesaid Bishop of Dunblane, 
but you ought to make no reply to his letter." — vol. vii. pp. 110 — 112. 

Only a month afterwards we find, from the same impartial 
witness, the conclusion to this mournful story. His letter of 
Wednesday the 17th June, 1567, is dated at Edinburgh, and is 
addressed to the King, Charles IX. of France, and contains by 
far the most circumstantial and authentic account ever published 
of the transactions on Carberry Hill. 

" Sire, I wrote a letter to the Queen f on Wednesday, the 11th of 
this month, and informed her that on the previous night, the Queen, 
your Majesty's sister-in-law, being at the castle of Bourtig (Borthwick), 
at four leagues from this city, was there besieged by a thousand or 
twelve hundred horse, led by the Earl of Morton and my Lord Home. 
These, on hearing that the DukeJ her husband had made his escape, 
were eager to show that they had not taken up arms to molest or dis- 
please their sovereign. Accordingly they withdrew and presented them- 
selves before this city, and they found on their way the Earl of Mar, 
who came to join them with seven or eight hundred horse. The armed 
burghers made no resistance to them, nor was a single shot fired from 
the castle, which the Queen and the Duke believed to be entirely at 

* See page 94 of this volume. f Catherine de' Medici. 

X Bothwell, lately created Duke of Orkney. 

i2 



116 LETTERS OF MAKY, 

their disposal, all which made us think the rising truly important and 
well combined by its principal leaders. 

" Next day I offered myself to confer with the assembled Lords, who 
immediately came to call upon me at my lodging. I told them what 
you will find in the paper annexed, and we agreed to treat. But 
having afterwards sent them the same statement in writing, they asked 
me for three days' delay before they answered it, while awaiting the 
Earls of Athol and Glencairn and other Lords whom they expect. 
They assign three grounds for their confederacy : first, to obtain the 
freedom of the Queen, saying that she would never be at ease so long 
as she remained in the hands of him who holds her captive ; secondly, 
the safety of the Prince ;* thirdly, in respect to the King's murder, 
for that they would think themselves the most dishonoured nation in the 
world if the authors of that crime were not discovered, and such con- 
dign punishment taken as should satisfy all other princes and princesses 
upon earth. 

" The Queen seeing that they had withdrawn from before Bourtig, 
made her escape about twilight in the way that the bearer of this letter 
will explain to you,f and retired to the castle of Dombar, having found 
the Duke again at half a league from Bourtig waiting for her. During 
all Friday and Saturday (June 12th and 13th) they mustered as many 
men as they could, and on Saturday they marched to Edington (Had- 
dington), four leagues from Dombar, where it was thought that they 
would pass the night; however, to lose no time, they marched two 
leagues further and lodged at Seaton. The Lords having been apprised 
of this, feared lest the Queen and the Duke might present themselves 
before the castle of this city, which promised to hold out for them if 
they could muster men enough. With this fear the Lords set them- 
selves in motion on Sunday morning two hours after midnight (June 
14th), intending to give battle near Seaton. The Queen and the Duke 
were informed of this intended movement, and at the same hour set 
forth to meet their enemy. Finding a good position on their way they 
halted. The Lords coming up halted also, being about half a league 
distant, and with a small brook running between them. 

" I felt myself full of perplexities : on the one hand I did not wish 
to remain useless while holding your commission ; on the other hand I 
thought that if I were to journey with the Lords, it would be giving 
the world to understand that I made common cause with them. I there- 
fore let them march on for about three hours, and then contrived to fall 
in with them on the side of the brook, having only ten horsemen in my 



* Queen Mary's son, afterwards James VI. 

f That is, in man's apparel, booted and spurred. — See Tytler's ' History, ' 
vii. p. 128. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. 117 



train. They pretended to be right glad to see me. I told them the 
grief I felt, knowing as I did how unwelcome would be the news of 
this sad daj's work to your Majesty. I begged them for God's sake to 
consider whether, acting in your name, I might not do some good ser- 
vice both to the Queen and to themselves. I pointed out to them 
that, after all, they were engaged against their sovereign, and that if 
even God should favour them so far as to gain the battle, they might 
perhaps find themselves more at a loss how to act than even now. 
They replied that they knew of only two expedients that could prevent 
the effusion of blood ; first, if the Queen would forsake that wretch who 
holds her in thraldom, they would hasten to acknowledge her as sove- 
reign, serve her on their knees, and remain her most dutiful and de- 
voted subjects. The second expedient was, if I would carry a message 
to that man (Both well), proposing to him to come forth between the 
two armies, in which case a champion on their side should appear 
against him and assert him to be the true murderer of the late King ; 
and if a second champion were required, or a fourth, or a tenth, or a 
twelfth, they should be forthcoming. I answered them that I would 
not mention either of these expedients, thinking that they would be 
greatly displeasing to the Queen, and I begged them to suggest some 
other means. They replied that they knew of no other, and that they 
would rather perish once for all than that the death of the King should 
not be brought to light ; for if in this matter they did not do their duty, 
God would certainly avenge it upon them. I begged them to allow me 
to go and speak to the Queen, whom I had always known as so gracious 
a princess, that perhaps I should find her able to concert with me some 
means of conciliation. To this they pretended to demur, at which I 
loudly complained, protesting before God and themselves that if I 
could not prevail with her Majesty I would return to them, and after- 
wards withdraw from the field. They held a secret conference to- 
gether, and then the Laird of Ledington (Maitland of Lethington), 
acting as their spokesman, told me that respecting me as the ambassador 
of so great a monarch as your Majesty, of whom they wished to remain 
the humble and attached servants, and feeling desirous above all things 
to preserve the alliance between this kingdom and yours, they would 
leave me at full liberty to depart from or return to their army, to go to 
the Queen or wherever else I pleased, and that with this view they 
would cause me to be escorted safely as far as they could. I thanked 
them heartily for the goodwill which they bore your Majesty, in which 
I exhorted them to persevere, and repeated again that I wished to go 
and confer with the Queen. They assigned me fifty horse, whom I led 
as far as the Queen's outposts that had already passed the brook ; there 
might be two hundred horse, and eight hundred behind to support them. 



118 LETTERS OF MARY, 

"As I was thus drawing near the main army of the Queen there 
came to meet me Captain Cladre (Blacater) with twenty-five or thirty 
horse, who brought me to her Majesty. After having paid her my re- 
spects and kissed her hand, I gave her to understand what grief it 
would be to your Majesty and also to the Queen, her mother-in-law,* 
if they knew the state in which I saw her. I told her what had passed 
between me and the assembled Lords, and entreated her, having always 
known her as so good and gracious a princess, to remember that those 
before her were her subjects, and that they acknowledged themselves 
as such, and her most humble and affectionate servants. Her Majesty 
replied that they showed this humility and affection in a very strange 
way ; that they were going against their own signatures ; that they 
themselves had married her to him whom they now accused, having 
previously themselves acquitted him of the deed with which he was 
charged. However, she added, if they were willing to acknowledge 
their error and ask her pardon, she was ready to open her arms and 
embrace them. During this discourse there came up the Duke, who 
appeared very attentive to the conduct of his army ; we exchanged a 
salutation, but I did not offer to embrace him. He asked me aloud, so 
that his army might hear him, and in a confident tone, whether he was 
the person aimed at by the other party ? I answered, also aloud, that 
since he wished to know it, I had just been speaking to them, and that 
they had protested to me that they were the most humble servants and 
subjects of the Queen ; and then I added in a lower tone, that they 
had announced themselves as his mortal enemies. The Duke rejoined, 
raising his voice so that every one might hear the assurances he had 
given them, that he had never meant to do anything to displease any 
one of them, but on the contrary had attempted to gratify all ; and 
that they could only complain of him from envy at his rise, but that 
Fortune was free to all who could gain her ; and that there was not a 
single man amongst them who did not wish himself in his place. But, 
he said, as things were thus, he entreated me from the bottom of his 
heart to do so much for his sake and for God's glory, as to save the 
Queen from the difficulty in which he saw her, and which, he said, 
filled him with anguish, and also to prevent the shedding of blood. 
* Tell them,' added he, ' that if there is any one amongst them who 
will leave his ranks and come forth between the two armies, I, although 
I have the honor to be consort of the Queen, will meet him in single 
combat, provided only he be a man of rank, for my cause is so just that 
I am assured of having God on my side.' I refused, however, to con- 
vey this offer from him, as I had before refused it from the other side ; 



Catherine de' Medici. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. liy 



besides, the Queen declared that she would not suffer it, and would 
espouse this quarrel as her own. I therefore confined myself to saying 
that I should deem myself very happy if in your Majesty's name I 
could do any service to the Queen and to both armies. The Duke ob- 
served that there was no longer time for conferences, since he saw the 
enemy drawing near, and having already passed the brook. < Will you,' 
he said, 'resemble him who, having tried to mediate a peace between 
the two armies of Scipio and Hannibal when ready to engage like these, 
and having failed, resolved to take part with neither, but took up a 
position to judge the fight, and was never in his life so entertained ? 
If you will do the same, you will have more pleasure than you ever 
had before, and will see a fight well fought.' I replied, that I expected 
no such pleasure where the Queen and her two armies were concerned, 
but that on the contrary I should never have seen anything to give me 
so much grief. I am bound to acknowledge that the Duke appeared to 
me a great captain, speaking with undaunted confidence, and leading 
his army gaily and skilfully. I lingered for some time in the contem- 
plation, and judged that he would have the best of the fight, if his men 
continued faithful to him. It was impossible to forbear praising him 
for his courageous bearing, when he saw the enemy's forces before him 
so determined, and could not reckon on even half his own. His army 
was of 4000 men, and he had four field-pieces, of which the enemy had 
none, nor could they be more than 3500 at the most. The Duke had 
not with him a single Lord of note ; yet I valued him the more for 
thus commanding singly ; and I distrusted the strength of the other 
side, seeing how many heads there were to govern, and the loud con- 
tention and outcry which arose among them. 

" It was with extreme regret that I took leave of the Queen, quitting 
her with tears in my eyes, and I went again to the other party to see 
if I could prevail in aught with them. I assured them that I had found 
the Queen all goodness, and that she declared herself ready to open her 
arms to them, if they were but willing to acknowledge her. They 
answered me resolutely that they would never enter into any other 
terms than those which they had already proposed ; and that even to 
attempt a negotiation on any other footing would injure their credit : 
thus therefore each of them took his morion in his hand and entreated 
me for God's sake to retire, thanking me for what I had done thus far. 
Accordingly I did retire from the field. 

" I may add this observation, that the Queen bore on her banner a 
lion, as being the arms of her kingdom ; but the Lords bore a white 
standard on which was represented a dead man near a tree, because 
the late King was found near a tree in the garden, and also a child 
on his knees, intended for the Prince of this kingdom, and holding 



120 LETTEES OF MAEY, 

a scroll with the words * Revenge, oh God, for my righteous 
cause !' 

" After I had left the field the two armies began to draw nearer each 
other, both seeking the advantage of the ground, and at last they were 
so close as to have only a small gully between them, so that whichever 
party began to attack would have to descend and to climb it. From 
eleven o'clock in the morning until five in the afternoon they remained 
at gaze, having all dismounted, for such is the custom of this country, 
to get on horseback only when the moment of fighting is at hand. At 
last a kind of murmur arose in the army of the Queen, the men saying 
that it would be better to seek some means of accommodation. At this 
the Queen and the Duke were greatly disconcerted, finding that what 
he had always feared had come to pass ; — and indeed they saw some of 
their people already gone forwards, making signs that they wished to 
parley. It was the same on the other side ; and on discussing together 
what means could be found to prevent the effusion of blood, it was 
agreed among the men that the best course would be for the Duke to 
stand forth between the two armies, and a champion from the other 
side come and fight him. The Duke agreed to this. The Queen saw 
that everything was turning ill, and lent an ear to the proposal. There 
was one man named, the Laird of Tullibardine,* who offered himself 
for the conflict, and the Duke was willing to accept him for an anta- 
gonist ; but the Queen peremptorily refused, on the ground that there 
were others of higher rank. At last another, called Lord Lindsay, f 
offered himself, and they pretended to accept him. 

" During these parleys it had happened that groups of men had been 
formed in the midst, and that great discouragement began to prevail in 
the army of the Queen. When the Queen first observed this disorder 
in her ranks she desired to speak with one of her adversaries, named 
the Laird of Grange, and she asked him whether there were no means 
of coming to terms for the safety of the Duke ; he answered, no, for 
that they were resolved either to die or to have him. Upon this the 
Duke mounted, and made his escape to Dombar, followed only by 
twenty-five or thirty horse. The Queen on her part began to walk to- 
wards her adversaries ; here then were the two armies joined together 
and marching in concert towards this city of Lislebourg.J When they 
came there they lodged the Queen in the house of the prevot (provost). 
I know, sire, that this name of prevot will sound very ill and appear 
very hateful in France, but according to the manners of this country it 
means the best house in the town. 



* Ancestor of the Dukes of Athol. f Lord Lindsay of the Byres. 

+ Edinburgh ; so called by the French, from the lochs then surrounding 
the city. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. 121 



" Next day (Monday, June 15th), at one o'clock in the morning, her 
Majesty put herself at a window, all in tears and v/ith more sighs and 
groans than can be described, and seeing Ledington pass in the street, 
entreated him for God's sake to let her speak to him, which he did in 
her chamber ; and the people who had gathered together at her cries 
were bid to disperse. Some Lords also went to her : I thought that I 
could not do less than ask to see her, and I had it mentioned to these 
Lords. They held a conference upon it, and sent me word that they 
would be glad I should see her ; being well assured that all I wished to 
say to her would be conducive to her tranquillity and theirs, but that 
her language to them was strange, and that they would be desirous of 
my speaking with them before I spoke with her. To this I consented, 
and they informed me that they would send an honourable attendance 
to fetch me. However, there was an alarm of tumult in the city, 
which lasted, as I think, the whole day ; and about nine in the evening 
they led the Queen to her usual apartments in the abbey (Holyrood), 
with two men on foot before her, bearing the standard which repre- 
sented the dead body. The Lords were on foot around her Majesty, 
and a thousand or twelve hundred men followed. During the night 
they removed her from this city ; as I believe, to the castle of Esterlins 

(Stirling)* I pray to God that he may comfort this poor 

kingdom, for it is now the most afflicted and distracted realm that can 
be found under heaven, and its disorder is beyond all power of expres- 
sion From Lislebourg this 17th of June, 1567." — vol. vii. pp. 

113—124. 

But perhaps our readers will now desire to see a specimen of 
Mary's own letters. The one which follows, addressed from 
Carlisle to the Cardinal of Lorraine, gives a striking 1 account of 
the hardships she endured after her escape from Lochleven, and 
appears to us in other respects highly characteristic : — 

" My dear Uncle, — If you have not pity upon me at this time, I may 
truly say that it is all over with my son, with my country, and with me ; 
and that in this country I shall have only changed my quarters for another 
prison, just as in Lochleven. I implore you to bear in mind that my 
enemies are few, and that the main part of the nobles is on my side : their 
nobles would begin to fall off from them if I had any ever so little help. 
For they are well aware that their cause is a bad one, and that in Scot- 
land and here, whenever I have been allowed to speak and to rebut their 
calumnies and false statements, they are deemed traitors and liars ; and 
for that reason they do their best to prevent me from passing farther and 

* Such was the first rumour, but in fact, as is well known, Mary was sent 
that night to Lochleven. 



122 LETTERS OF MARY, 

to detain me here. Those whom the Queen (Elizabeth) sends to stop 
the proceedings of my enemies and to pursue them, on the contrary, 
encourage and assist them ; so that I am to be kept aloof until the 
others shall have been able to overwhelm my party. And yet I have 
offered to prove them false accusers, and myself innocent, as you will 
hear from the bearer, to whom, from the credit which I give him, I refer 
myself for all other particulars. I implore you to hasten some succours 
to me, for he will show you how much in need of it stand all my faithful 
servants, who are not in small number, and amongst others poor Lord 
Seyton, who is in danger of losing his head, because he was one of those 
who delivered me from prison. 

" I beseech you to give good entertainment to Beatoun, for I do not 
venture to send for him here until I shall be better assured. For they 
all say that they will kill him if they can, and also George Douglas, who 
was another that helped to free me. For which reason I shall send him 
to you as soon as ever he can have safety in his passage, and I am 
w r riting on the subject to the ambassador of France. For they have 
prevented my Lord Fleming, who is there, from going over as he wished 
to the King.* If George goes, I will send you by him an account of 
all their doings and my own since the beginning of the troubles ; for 
he has heard tell their fine accounts of me, and I will instruct him as to 
the rest. I recommend him to you : cause good entertainment to be 
given unto him ; for otherwise no man will lose his friends and peril his 
life to serve me. He is faithful : of that you may be well assured, and 
he will do whatever you command him. 

" I beseech you that you w 7 ould send often to visit the Duke,f for his 
kinsmen have served me right well ; and if they be not succoured, there 
are tw r enty-eight gentlemen, all of the name of Hamilton, condemned 
to be hanged, and to have their houses razed to the ground : for every 
man who will not obey these factious chiefs is held guilty of the crime 
which themselves have committed. 

" In public they invent from day to day fresh falsehoods concerning 
me, and in private they offer to say nothing further to wrong me, if I 
will only resign to them the government. But I had rather die than 
fail to make them own that they have lied in so many vile things which 
they have put under my name. In other matters I commit myself 
wholly to the bearer, and I beseech you to have pity on the honour of 
your poor niece, and obtain the succours which this bearer will tell 
you of, and, pending these, some money, for I have no means left to 
buy bread, and not a shift nor gown. 

" The Queen here has sent me a little linen, and supplies me with 
one daily dish. For the rest I have borrowed ; but I find that I can 

* Of France. f Of Chatel-Herault, chief of the Hamiltons. 



QUEEN OF SCOTS. 123 



borrow no more. You will have a share in this shame. Sandy Clerk, 
who has been to France on the part of that false-hearted bastard,* has 
boasted that you would not supply me with any money, nor take any 
part in my affairs. God is trying me sore ; at the least be well assured 
that I shall die a Catholic. God, as I deem, will right soon remove me 
from this misery. For I have suffered injuries, calumnies, imprisonment, 
hunger, heat and cold ; I have fled, without knowing whither, for ninety- 
two miles across the fields, without halt or rest ; and then, after that, to 
lie on the hard ground, to drink of sour milk, and to eat of oatmeal, 
without any bread ! Then to travel three nights through, like the 
screech-owls, and to come without a single woman to attend me 
into this country, where, for my reward, I find myself little better than 
a prisoner. Meanwhile all the houses of my servants are being razed, 
and I cannot give them succour ; and the masters of those houses are 
being hanged, and I cannot reward them ; and yet all to their end 
remain constant unto me, abhorring these cruel traitors, who have but 
three thousand men at their command, and even of these one-half would 
be sure to leave them, had I but a little help. I pray God to put a 
remedy to these disorders ; it will be at the time of his good pleasure, 
and may he grant you health and long life. 

" From Carlisle, this 21st of June, 1568." f " Marie R." 

We will add the last letter which the ill-fated Mary ever 
wrote : it is addressed to Henry III., King of France, and dated 
Fotheringay Castle, February 8th, 1587, the very night before 
her execution : — 

"Sir, my brother-in-law, — Having by the will of God, and for my 
sins, as I believe, come and thrown myself into the arms of this Queen 
my cousin, where I have had many sore troubles and passed well nigh 
twenty years, I am at length by her, and by her States, condemned to 
death. 

" I have asked for my papers which they had taken from me, in order 
that I might make my will ; but I have not been able to obtain any that 
could be of service to me, nor yet got leave to make that testament 
freely, nor yet have a promise that after my death my body should be 
removed, according to my wish, into your kingdom, where I have had 
the honour to be Queen — your sister, and your ancient ally. 

" This day, after dinner, has been read to me my sentence, to be exe- 
cuted on me to-morrow, as on a felon, at eight o'clock in the morning. 
I have had no leisure to make to you a more ample discourse of all that 



* The Earl of Murray, Regent of Scotland. 
f Vol. ii. pp. 115—119. 



124 LETTERS OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

hath passed ; but if it please you to believe thereon my medecinar and 
my other desolate servants, you will hear from them the truth ; and 
how, thanks be to God, I despise death, and faithfully protest that I 
receive it innocent of any crime — even though I were their subject. 
The Catholic religion, and the maintenance of the right which God hath 
given me on this crown, are the two grounds of my condemnation : and 
yet they will not give me leave to say that it is for the Catholic religion 
that I die, but rather for fear lest their own should be changed. As a 
proof, they have taken away from me my chaplain ; and though he be 
still in the house, I have not been able to obtain that he should come 
to receive my confession and give me the Holy Sacrament at my death, 
but they have eagerly pressed me to receive comfort and doctrine from 
their minister whom they brought hither for that end. The bearer of 
this letter and his company, most of them your born subjects, will bear 
testimony unto you how I may conduct myself in this, the last act of my 
life. 

" It remains that I should implore you, as the Most Christian King, 
as my brother-in-law, as my ancient ally, as one who always protested 
of your love unto me, that now you should give proof on all these points 
of your virtue and goodness, and should in charity relieve my conscience 
of what I cannot, without your aid — which is to reward my desolate 
servants and continue to them their wages, and also to cause prayers to 
be made to God for a Queen who has, like yourself, borne the title of 
Most Christian, and who dies a Catholic despoiled of all her goods. 

" As for my son, I commend him unto you, so far as he may deserve it 
— since I am not able to answer for him. I have taken the boldness to 
send you two jewels of rare value for health, wishing that your health 
may be perfect, and your life long and happy. Receive these gifts as 
from your very affectionate sister, who died in giving token of her good 
heart towards you. Once again let me commend unto you my servants. 
You will give orders, if you please, that for the sake of my soul I may 
be paid in part what you owe unto me, and that in honour of Jesus 
Christ, to whom I shall pray to-morrow at my dying hour for you, you 
should leave me enough wherewithal to found an obit and to make the 
needful alms. 

" This Thursday, two hours after midnight. 

" From your very affectionate and good sister, 

" Marie R." 

We conclude as we began, heartily commending these volumes 
to general attention, as one of the most valuable contributions 
ever offered to British Literature by a foreign hand. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 125 



THE MAEQUIS OF MONTEOSE. ' 

[Qu. Rev., No. 157. December, 1846.] 

1. Montrose and the Covenanters: Illustrated from Private Letters and 

other Original Documents hitherto unpublished. By Mark Napier, Esq., 
Advocate. 2 vols. 8vo. London. 1838. 

2. The Life and Times of Montrose: Illustrated from Original Manu- 

scripts, including Family Papers, now first published from the Montrose 
Charter-Chest, and other Private Repositories. By Mark Napier, Esq. 
Edinburgh. 1840. 

Mr. Napier states in his Dedication of 1 840 that he was roused 
to authorship on finding that the old calumnies against Montrose 
have not yet lost their credit, and that his name is still mentioned 
as one to be " abhorred " even in present times, and by hi»h 
authorities. From these obiter dicta (for such we must consider 
them), even the most candid and most justly respected writers 
are not always free. Against them there must ever lie a right of 
appeal to ancient and authentic records. But we think it highly 
probable that no such unfavourable views would have been formed, 
and no such disparaging terms employed, had there been then 
before the world those fuller materials which the patient industry 
of Mr. Napier has since that time produced. 

With a just admiration for Montrose and the Scottish loyalists, 
he has carefully and diligently sought out whatever could bear 
upon their history. The appearance of his first work, ' Montrose 
and the Covenanters,' in 1838, incited the descendants of the hero 
to a search, which they had strangely during two centuries post- 
poned, into their own family Charter-Chest,* — a search which 
has brought to light, for the first time, several important original 
letters to Montrose, especially from Kings Charles the First and 
Second. Under these circumstances, which might have mortified 

* The late Duke of Montrose wrote to Mr. Napier as follows, previous to 
the publication of 1838 : — " I am sorry to say that we cannot give you any 
assistance in the task you are preparing to undertake, as there are no papers 
whatever existing, and in our possession, which can throw light upon the 
subject." — Preface, p. xiv. 



12(5 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

an ordinary scribbler, Mr. Napier was far from echoing the reply 
of the French Abbe and would-be historian, who, when offered 
some curious MS. notes of the governor of a fortress, answered 
drily, Mon siege est fait I Mr. Napier, on the contrary, in an 
excellent spirit, and with most commendable zeal, sat down to 
re-write his book by the aid of his fresh materials. The new 
work was published in 1840, with the title ' The Life and Times 
of Montrose,' but compressed into a single volume, and omitting 
not a few of the documents and extracts to be found in the 
former. Both works are therefore necessary to a full under- 
standing of the subject, and it is from both (not neglecting other 
helps) that we propose to draw what we hope may not prove un- 
welcome to our readers, a sketch of the career and character of 
The Great Marquis — as to this day in Scotland the hero con- 
tinues to be called. 

There are very few men so eminent of whose early years so 
little is known. This is the more remarkable when we consider 
his high rank and lineage — the head of the house of Graham, 
and by succession the fifth Earl of Montrose. Neither the time 
nor the place of his birth appears to be recorded. We only know 
that at the decease of his father, the fourth Earl, in November, 
1626, he was in his fourteenth year. During the rest of his 
nonage he was under the guardianship of Lord Napier of Mer- 
chiston, who had married one of his elder sisters, and who con- 
tinued through life his bosom-friend. It was perhaps as being 
an only son that Montrose married in very early youth. His 
wife was Madeline Carnegie, daughter of the Earl of Southesk ; 
and by 1633 we find him already the father of two sons. Early 
in that year his young Countess appears to have died ; but even 
of that fact there is no positive record, and it is rather inferred 
from the utter silence respecting her in all further accounts of 
Montrose. 

In the same year, and probably in consequence of his domestic 
bereavement, Montrose went abroad, travelling into France and 
Italy, and continuing on the Continent about three years. We 
can trace no particulars of his tour, nor of his habits of life at 
that period. Only in the archives of the English College at 
Rome appears the following entry : " 1635, 27th day of March, 
two Earls, Angus and Montrose, with four others, gentlemen of 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 127 



distinction of that nation, attended by four domestics, were honour- 
ably entertained in our refectory according- to their rank." 

Montrose came back from his travels with great accomplish- 
ments and advantages both of mind and person. His chaplain, 
Dr. Wishart, describes him as " not very tall, nor much exceed- 
ing a middle stature, but of an exceeding strong composition 
of body and an incredible force, joined with an excellent propor- 
tion and fine features. His hair was of a dark-brown colour, his 
complexion sanguine, of a quick and piercing gray eye, with a 
high nose, something like the ancient sign of the magnanimity 
of the Persian Kings. He was a man of a very princely car- 
riage and excellent address a complete horseman, and had 

a singular grace in riding." If this portrait, as drawn by his 
own chaplain, should appear too favourable and in need of some 
corrective, we can supply one from Bishop Burnet, who always 
refers to "the Great Marquis" with especial malignity, and 
even in one passage goes to the preposterous length of question- 
ing his personal courage:* "He was," says the Bishop, "a 
young man well-learned, who had travelled, but had taken upon 
him the part of a hero too much, and lived as in a romance, for 
his whole manner was stately to affectation." 

On his return home, adorned by such accomplishments, Mon- 
trose was presented to Charles I. with every expectation of a 
cordial welcome. But the King, whether because, as is alleged, 
his Majesty had been prepossessed against him by the Hamiltons, 
or because his own manner was cold and dry until mellowed by 
misfortune, took little notice of him, merely gave him his hand to 
kiss, and then turned aside. This slight was keenly felt by 
Montrose ; and we see no reason to doubt (however strenuously 
Mr. Napier denies) that it formed one motive of the part which 
he shortly afterwards took in the growing troubles of Scotland. 

Those troubles, as is well known, began by the establishment 
of the Canons and Liturgy, and resulted in the production of the 
Covenant. Nothing could exceed the ardour and enthusiasm 
with which that bond was hailed among the Scottish people; 
Hume not unaptly speaks of it as a general contagion. That a 
high-spirited young nobleman, attached to the Protestant faith, 
not regardless of popularity, conscious of great abilities, and re- 
* History of his own Times, vol. i. p. 91. Ed. Oxford, 1833. 



128 THE MAEQUIS OF MONTKOSE. 



senting the neglect of the Court, should espouse a specious cause 
in the first dawn of its zeal, and before it was clouded over by- 
excesses, was surely not unnatural. Nor were the most artful 
solicitations wanting from many quarters, and above all from 
the Earl of Rothes, to secure so hopeful an ally. As Principal 
Robert Baillie afterwards declared, " The canniness of Rothes 
brought in Montrose to our party."* 

Once engaged, Montrose bore a share in all the factions of the 
General Assemblies. We find the Marquis of Hamilton, the 
King's Commissioner in Scotland, write of him with much aspe- 
rity to his Royal Master (Nov. 27, 1638) : " Now for the Cove- 
nanters I shall only say this : in general they may all be placed 
in one roll as they now stand ; but certainly, Sir, those that have 
both broached the business, and still hold it aloft, are Rothes, 
Balmerino, Lindsay, Lothian, Loudon, Yester, Cranstoun. There 
are many others as forward in show, amongst whom none more 
vainly foolish than Montrose. But the above mentioned are the 
main contrivers." At this period, also, Montrose was intrusted 
with two expeditions to the north. The first had for its object 
conversion rather than conquest ; the Earl was attended by three 
of the most ardent of the seceding clergy ; j and he returned in 
August, 1638, with a parchment full of signatures to the Cove- 
nant ; " the most worthless laurel," adds Mr. Napier, " that he 
ever gained." 

The second expedition, in the spring of 1639, was more con- 
genial to his military temper ; he was required to keep in check 
the Marquis of Huntly as the King's lieutenant north of Spey. 
Some newly-levied foot were placed at his disposal, and he bore 
the title of General ; but as he complained from the first to Gor- 
don of Straloch, " business here is all transacted by vote and a 
Committee, nor can I get anything done of myself." After some 
skirmishing, he found Huntly not disinclined to treat ; and it was 

* Letter to W. Spang, April 25, 1645. 

f An account of their arrival at Aberdeen is given by John Spalding, 
commissary-clerk of that town, whose ' History of the Troubles ' was printed 
by the Bannatyne Club in 1828 : — " The Provost and Baillies courteously 
salute them at their lodging, and offer them wine and confects according to 
their laudable custom for their welcome ; but this their courteous offer was 
disdainfully refused, saying they would drink none with them until first the 
Covenant was subscribed \" — July 20, 1638. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 129 



arranged between them that they, each accompanied by eleven of 
his friends, should hold a conference at the village of Lowess, 
about nine miles south of Strathbogie. The two parties met ac- 
cordingly, armed only with walking-swords ; and such was their 
mutual suspicion, that a gentleman from each side was appointed 
to search the other for fear of hidden weapons. After a few 
words of courteous greeting, the two chiefs stepped aside, and 
conversed in private for a considerable time. The result was, that 
Huntly consented to sign a paper with certain terms of adhesion, 
and on two separate occasions rode over from his own to the 
Covenanters' camp. But at his last visit it was sought to impose 
upon him further terms ; on his refusal, the parole pledged for 
his safety was broken, and he was conducted as a prisoner or 
a hostage to Edinburgh Castle. The bad faith of this detention 
is manifest and glaring. We are assured, however, that Montrose 
withstood it to the uttermost,* but found that his single voice in 
the council of officers could not avail to prevent it. 

It seems not unreasonable to infer that the resentment of 
Montrose at finding himself thus committed to an act of treachery, 
may have combined with his alarm for the monarchy and his dis- 
gust at the growing violence which he saw around him, to alien- 
ate him from the party which he had, perhaps too rashly, espoused. 
In the Parliaments of 1639 and 1640 his name on several occa- 
sions appears on the side of moderate counsels. Even in the 
field he showed a disposition to lenity, though no abatement of 
vigour. Scarcely had he returned to Edinburgh, with Huntly 
in his train, before he heard that the loyal Barons of the north 
were again in arms. With characteristic energy he instantly set 
off again, crossed the. Grampians, gathered troops as he went, 
and on the 25th of May re-entered Aberdeen at the head of two 
or three thousand troops, the flower of which were the horsemen 
of Angus and Mearns. He had with him the Earls Marischal 
and Athol, and several other Lords and gentlemen, together with 
a train of thirteen field-pieces. The clay but one after his arrival 

* Qaoy que Montrose s'opposast de tout son pouvoir, are the words of 
Menteith de Salmonet (p. 67), whose work was written in French, and 
printed at Paris in 1661. James Gordon, a kinsman of Huntly, admits that 
Montrose was " overborne by votes " in this transaction, but implies a doubt 
(surely without a shadow of probability) whether his resistance was sincere 
or simulated. 

K 



130 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 



he held a general Committee to decide upon the fate of Aberdeen, 
which had distinguished itself by its zeal for Prelacy — " that 
unnatural city," as Principal Baillie calls it on that account. 
The Covenanting Ministers of that day were unable to under- 
stand how a town which favoured Bishops could deserve the 
smallest mercy ; they remembered the texts on the destruction of 
Jericho and Ai, and urged that in like manner Aberdeen should 
be given up to slaughter and conflagration. Montrose, however, 
stood firm against them ; and being backed on this occasion by 
the young Earl Marischal and other men of weight, finally car- 
ried his point, so that the burghers of Aberdeen were only fined 
and reprimanded, and exposed to free quarters, but spared from 
fire and sword. 

One instance, however, of slaughter on a small scale is re- 
corded by John Spalding. It appears that the Covenanting 
officers and soldiers on their first visit were decorated each with 
a blue riband round his neck. Upon their retreat some Aber- 
deen ladies in derision tied blue ribands round their lap-dogs' 
necks. Hearing of this jest, the soldiers on their return killed 
without mercy every cur which they met in the town, " so that 
neither hound nor messan, or other dog was left alive !" (May 
26, 1639.) 

The next step of Montrose was to bring up his field-pieces, 
and batter the castle of Gight, a principal strong-hold of the 
Gordons ; but he quickly raised the siege on learning that a new 
enemy was at hand. Huntly's second son, the Viscount Aboyne, 
whom the King had lately named his lieutenant in the north, 
appeared off Aberdeen with three armed ships and some troops 
on board. Aboyne was only a boy of nineteen, but had for his 
guide Colonel Gun, an experienced though versatile soldier, — a 
partisan in both senses of the word — and on landing he was 
joined by his brother, Lord Lewis Gordon, and some Highland 
levies. The whole united force marched off in high spirits to 
encounter Montrose, who had made skilful dispositions to receive 
them at Stonehaven. On their coming up a little skirmishing 
and a few cannon-balls were found sufficient to send them back 
in confusion. Montrose next proceeded to force the passage of 
the Dee, again entered Aberdeen, scattered the Gordons far and 
wide, and became once more master of the open country. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 131 

In this skirmish, which was called the Raid of Stonehaven, 
Montrose appears to have been greatly aided by the effect of any 
piece of ordnance on the imaginations of the Highlanders ; even 
down to 1745 they called a cannon "the Musket's mother," and 
looked upon it with a kind of superstitious awe. 

In the southern counties at this time the war seemed coming 
to a crisis between the Parliament of Scotland and the King ; 
and the Scottish army, headed by General Alexander Leslie, had 
already marched to the Borders, when Charles decided on con- 
cluding a pacification, too hasty in its resolve, and too vague in 
its terms, to be lasting. During this hollow truce (for such it 
proved), his Majesty summoned several of the chief nobles, 
among whom was Montrose, to attend him at his Court at 
Berwick. The interview between the King and the Earl took 
place accordingly in July, 1639, and although no particulars of 
it are found recorded, we cannot suppose it to have been without 
effect. Each on closer observation must have discovered the 
high endowments of the other: — each after what had passed 
would be more than commonly solicitous to please. Seldom, 
indeed, has such a subject met the eye of such a master. 

The moderation of Montrose in the Parliament which met the 
month after (although the same moderation was shown by many 
others who had not been to Berwick) was ascribed by his ill- 
wishers to the persuasions of the King, and to his own ambitious 
hopes. " Division," writes Principal Baillie (Oct. 12, 1639), 
" is now much laboured for in all our estate. They speak of 
too great prevailing with our nobles. Home evidently fallen off. 
Montrose not unlikely to be ensnared with the fair promises of 
advancement. Marischal, Sutherland, and others, somewhat 
doubtful. Sheriff of Teviotdale, and some of the Barons, inclin- 
ing the Court way." But we altogether disbelieve a story told 
by Bishop Gruthry, and repeated by Mr. Napier without objec- 
tion, that Montrose at this time found affixed to his chamber 
door a paper with the words, " invictus armis verbis vin- 
citur." Such an inscription is clearly framed on a view of 
Montrose's later exploits ; in 1639 he had yet done nothing to 
deserve the high compliment invictus armis. 

Ere many months had elapsed from the new inconsiderate pa^ 
cification, the differences which had been not so much adjusted 

k 2 



132 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

as postponed, and the resentments slurred over instead of healed, 
burst forth again with redoubled fury. Again did both parties 
appeal to the sword ; again did news come to Edinburgh that 
King Charles was preparing for the invasion of Scotland, had 
collected an army on the Tyne, and had placed himself at its 
head. On their part the Scottish Parliament were not slack in 
mustering their forces ; nor did Montrose, when called upon, 
refuse his aid in that hour of danger. He commanded a division 
in the army which, under General Leslie, and in July, 1640, 
marched towards the Tweed, and encamped for a time on Dunse 
Moor. During this pause in the military operations a remark- 
able event in politics occurred. It is stated by Montrose himself, 
as appears from judicial depositions, that a bond was privately 
offered for his signature proposing that some person should be 
named Captain-General, with arbitrary powers north of Forth, 
and implying that this person should be the Earl of Argyle. 
Stung at the proposal, Montrose immediately took horse for 
Cumbernauld, the house of the Earl of Wigtoun, where he met by 
appointment several of his friends, as the Earls Marischal, Home, 
Athol, and Mar — Lords Stormont, Seaforth, and Erskine — and 
Amond, who was second in command of Leslie's army. With 
these and some others, Montrose and Wigtoun subscribed a bond 
acknowledging their obligation to " that Covenant already signed," 
but stipulating for their mutual aid and defence in case of need, 
that " every one of us shall join and adhere to each other." 
Having thus secretly combined, Montrose and his friends returned 
to the army, which they found prepared to march forward and 
cross the Tweed. On reaching that river, the chiefs cast lots as 
to who should pass over the first, and the lot fell upon Montrose. 
He accordingly dismounted, forded the stream on foot, and re- 
turned to encourage his men.* A few days afterwards he took 
part in the more memorable passage of the Tyne, and the repulse, 
or rather rout, of the English army at Newburn. 

In consequence of the day at Newburn, it is well known how 
the King's forces, diminished and dispirited, fell back first to 

* Montrose's Life and Times, p. 138, with the passages cited from Baillie 
and Bishop Guthry. Sir Walter Scott, writing from memory, transfers the 
incident to the passage 3f the Tyne, at the battle of Newburn, where no 
doubt it makes a far better figure. — Tales of a Grandfather, second series, 
-vol. i. p. 211. Ed. 1829. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 133 

Durham, then to York, and how negotiations for peace com- 
menced at Ripon, when the Scots were free to dictate almost 
their own terms. Charles had no other resource than once more 
to summon a Parliament in England — the " Long Parliament,'' 
as it proved — which from the very first displayed an eager resolu- 
tion not only to curb the King's prerogative, but to punish his ad- 
visers. Within a few months of their meeting they had already 
voted ship money illegal ; they had cancelled the sentence against 
Hampden ; they had driven into exile Lord Keeper Finch and 
Secretary Windebank ; they had sent Laud to the dungeon and 
Strafford to the scaffold. 

Even during the negotiations at Ripon, all danger to Scotland 
having passed, but new danger to the throne arisen, Montrose 
did not feel himself precluded from writing a letter to the King, 
expressive of his loyalty and duty. A copy of this letter (so un- 
faithful were some of Charles's servants!) was surreptitiously 
obtained, and transmitted to the chiefs of the Scottish army at 
Newcastle. Much incensed, they openly charged Montrose with 
having written to the King — but Montrose at once avowed and 
justified the act ; and since at that time the highest respect for the 
Royal authority was professed even by those who most ardently 
laboured to destroy it — since even when troops were levied 
against the King it was still in the name of the King- — the 
other Scottish leaders at Newcastle were compelled, however 
unwillingly, to admit, or at least to accept, the defence of their 
colleague. 

The results were however more serious to Montrose, when, on 
his return to Scotland, the bond of Cumbernauld was discovered 
and denounced by Argyle. At nearly the same time some con- 
ferences which Montrose had held with the Ministers of Perth 
(Montrose being then on a visit to Lord Stormont at Scone), and 
which, like the bond, tended against the dominant faction of 
Argyle and Rothes, were made known to the Committee of 
Estates at Edinburgh. Loud and angry was their clamour at the 
news. The Earl was summoned, and several times examined 
before them, at the close of May, 1641, when, far from denying 
or glossing over, or asking pardon for what he had done or said, 
he openly acknowledged and undauntedly maintained it. " Did 
you," thus he was asked in Argyle's own presence, and in the 



134 THE MAKQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

fulness of Argyle's power, " did you name the Earl of Argyle ?" 
" I did name the Earl of Argyle," he answered : " I named 
Argyle as the man who was to rule be-north Forth, and as the 
man who discoursed of deposing the King. I am not the author 
or inventor of these things : I will lay it down at the right door !" 
Ill satisfied with such frankness, the Committee, on the 1 1 th of 
June, issued orders for arresting and securing, in Edinburgh 
Castle, Montrose himself, his kinsman Lord Napier, and Sir 
George Stirling of Keir, who had married Napier's daughter, 
while materials to serve for their impeachment were busily sought 
out. Lord Sinclair was despatched to the Earl's house at Old 
Montrose with a commission to break open his cabinets in quest 
of secret papers ; but Sinclair found only a store of love-letters 
which some ladies had formerly addressed to Montrose, and 
which, according to Bishop G-uthry, were " flowered with Arca- 
dian compliments. The Lord Sinclair " (thus continues the 
Bishop) " was much blamed by men of honour and gallantry 
for publishing these letters, but the rigid sort had him in greater 
esteem for it !"* 

If we endeavour to review the whole career of Montrose, from 
the time when he joined the Covenanters until the time when he 
forsook them, and when they threw him into prison, we shall find 
the contemporary accounts, as drawn out in array by Mr. Napier, 
neither very full nor yet very clear. We cannot think, however, 
that they afford any adequate ground for imputation on his motives 
or his conduct. It is certainly possible, nay even probable, that, 
conscious as was Montrose of eminent abilities, he really felt, as 
is alleged against him, jealous and offended at the ascendancy 
of Argyle in the councils of their common party ; but we see no 
reason to distrust the truth of his own solemn dying declaration, 
that what mainly moved him was, when he " perceived some 
private persons, under colour of religion, intend to wring the 
authority from the King, and to seize on it for themselves ;" and 
that in the bond which he subscribed — " the security of religion 
was sufficiently provided for."t And we may observe that this 

* Montrose and the Covenanters, vol. ii. p. 49. Mr. Napier observes, in 
a note, that by the word " publishing " the Bishop could only mean dis- 
coursing of, or disclosing ; since the letters are now unknown, and not to be 
found among the pamphlets of Montrose's day. 

f Speech of Montrose before the Parliament of Scotland, May 20, 1650. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 135 

general course of politics (to resist the Royal authority while it 
encroaches, but to stand by it when it totters and yields — to aim 
at reform, but to stop short of revolution) is the course which in 
all ages has been sanctioned by the best and wisest of man- 
kind — by such men among Montrose's own contemporaries, as 
Falkland and Hyde in England, as De Mesmes and Mole in 
France. 

Two months after Montrose had been imprisoned in Edin- 
burgh Castle King Charles arrived at Holyrood House. " The 
end of my coming," such were his words to his Scottish Parlia- 
ment, "is shortly this: to perfect whatsoever I have promised, 
and withal to quiet those distractions which have or may fall out 
amongst you ; and this I mind not superficially, but fully and 
cheerfully to do." But so low had his power sunk at this period, 
that we may rather adopt the words of his noble historian, and 
say with Clarendon, that " he seemed to have made that progress 
into Scotland only that he might make a perfect deed of gift of 
that kingdom !" To save his friends, he was compelled to scat- 
ter honours and rewards among his enemies. Alexander Leslie, 
the first in command of the insurgent army, was created Earl of 
Leven ; and Lord Amond, the second in command, Earl of Cal- 
lender ; while lesser dignities were bestowed on inferior partisans 
of the same cause. Well might Lord Carnwath exclaim at this 
time, with a bitter jest, that he would go to Ireland, and join 
Sir Phelim O'Neal and the other rebels there, since then he was 
sure the King would promote him ! 

Notwithstanding Charles's intercession, Montrose was not yet 
released. It is said, however, that private letters and messages 
passed between them ; that Montrose took this opportunity of 
disclosing to the King the ill practices and treacherous designs 
of Hamilton and Argyle — and that in consequence an order for 
their arrest was secretly prepared. The two noblemen, together 
with the Earl of Lanerick or Lanark, Hamilton's brother, ap- 
prised of the real or pretended danger, hastily left the Court, and 
retired to their own country-houses, where they could not have 
been seized without the risk of a civil war. After sundry pro- 
ceedings in Parliament, and full assurances of safety, they con- 
sented to return to Edinburgh — a Marquisate, as a pledge of 
reconciliation and favour, being bestowed upon Argyle. This 



136 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

mysterious transaction, which was known in Scotland by the 
name of " the Incident," has never been clearly explained, and 
admits of more than one interpretation. Its chief effect at the 
time, if not its secret design, was to cast a shade of doubt and 
suspicion on the sincerity and personal disposition of the King. 

" The Incident " has, however, been the ground of a most 
serious accusation against Montrose — that he proposed to the 
King not merely, as he fairly might, the arrest of his rivals, but 
their assassination. We will give this charge in the very words 
of Clarendon : — 

" Now, after his Majesty arrived in Scotland, by the introduction of 
Mr. William Murray of the bedchamber, he (Montrose) came privately 
to the King, and informed him of many particulars from the beginning 
of the rebellion, and that the Marquis of Hamilton was no less faulty 
and false towards his Majesty than Argyle, and offered to make proof 
of all in the Parliament, but rather desired to kill them both, which he 
frankly undertook to do ; but the King, abhorring that expedient, 
though for his own security, advised that the proofs might be prepared 
for the Parliament."* 

In the first place, we cannot but think that the whole founda- 
tion of this story — the alleged interview, namely, between the 
King and Montrose — is utterly disproved by the following judi- 
cious remarks of Mr. Napier : — 

" William Murray was not Constable of Edinburgh Castle; and if 
he had been, is it possible that, without the knowledge of the Cove- 
nanters, he could at this crisis have brought the Earl privately to the 
King? The word ' privately' can have no other meaning than that the 
faction were kept in ignorance of this stolen interview ; but it will be 
remembered that when Stephen Boyd, the governor of the fortress, 
permitted Montrose, Napier, and Keir to hold some casual meeting 
together within the walls of their prison, the fact was instantly known, 
and he lost his office for presuming to relax their confinement. "f 

But the detractors of Montrose (and how many has his loyalty 
made !) may still allege that, although the interview be imaginary, 
the assassination might, like the arrest, be suggested through 
letters or messages. Surely, however, it is a sound rule of his- 
torical criticism, that whenever any essential part of a story 
admits of disproof, the authority of the whole story is shaken. 

* Vol. ii. p. 17, Oxford ed., 1826. f Life and Times, p. 220. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTEOSE. 137 

Besides, it is obvious from several other inaccuracies in this pas- 
sage of Clarendon (as where he afterwards sets together, in point 
of time, the Marquisate of Argyle and the Dukedom of Hamilton, 
there being, in fact, an interval of nearly two years between them), 
that he did not derive this statement from the information of the 
King, or of any other eye-witness in Scotland, but was merely 
repeating the current rumours and slanders of the day. But, 
further still, we lay the greatest stress on the following passage 
from a letter of Charles. Only a few months afterwards (on the 
7th of May, 1642) we find the King thus commence a letter to 
the Earl : — 

" Montrose, I know I need no arguments to induce you to my ser- 
vice. Duty and loyalty are sufficient to a man of so much honour as I 
know you to be." 

Could a monarch so pious and lofty-minded have thus addressed 
the man whose foul schemes of murder he had so recently re- 
jected with abhorrence ? This question can admit of but one 
answer from those who think, as we do, reverently of King 
Charles ; and as for those who do not, Montrose, in his riper 
years, we are very sure, would have cared little for their good 
or their ill opinion of himself. Even of those, however, who 
are most ready to disparage the " Royal Martyr," we would ask, 
could these expressions of Charles have really passed, if that 
statement of Clarendon were really true ? Would not the com- 
pliments to Montrose's honour, from such a quarter and under 
such circumstances, have sounded like insulting irony ; and 
would they not, therefore, even on mere grounds of prudence 
and policy, have been carefully avoided ? 

On the 18th of November, 1641, the King set out from Edin- 
burgh on his return to England. Only the day but one before, 
he had so far prevailed as to obtain that Montrose and his friends 
should be set free on caution " that from henceforth they carry 
themselves soberly and discreetly." As the price for their re- 
lease, Charles issued a Declaration promising that he would not 
employ them in offices of court and state, nor grant them access 
to his person. Yet the attack against them did not end with 
their imprisonment, their trials being referred to the conduct of 
a Committee, whose proceedings were to be limited to the 1st of 
March ensuing. On that day, however, the ruling powers quietly 



138 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

dropped the proceedings against Montrose, being equally unable 
to convict and unwilling to acquit him. 

The Earl now withdrew to one or other of his country houses, 
— Old Montrose, or Kincardine Castle in Perthshire — where he 
lived for several months in close retirement. He was not only a 
soldier, but a poet and a scholar, and he had therefore resources 
in his solitude which many other statesmen and warriors have 
wanted. But in May, 1642, the Earl, attended by his nephew 
Keir and his friend Lord Ogilvie, rode to York, then the resi- 
dence of the King, with the view of holding some communication 
with his Majesty. Charles, mindful of his own recent Declara- 
tion, forbade their approach to him nearer than one post. Yet 
there seems every probability that Montrose, while there, con- 
ferred, at the King's desire, with some of his Majesty's most 
trusted servants. 

A crisis was now indeed at hand between the King and the 
Commons of England which might well call for the spontaneous 
offer of every loyal heart and hand. In August the Royal 
Standard was raised at Nottingham ; in October was fought the 
battle of Edge Hill. In February, 1643, Montrose, learning 
that the Queen was on her return from Holland, resolved to lay 
before her his counsels for the conduct of affairs in Scotland at 
that decisive juncture. Accordingly he met her Majesty on her 
landing at Burlington, and attended her to York. But he found 
himself supplanted by the returning favour of Hamilton. The 
main point was how to prevent the Parliament of Scotland from 
making common cause with the Parliament of England. " Resist 
force with force," cried Montrose ; " the rebellious cockatrice 
must be bruised in the egg. The King has loyal subjects in 
Scotland ; they want but the King's countenance and commis- 
sion ; the only danger is delay." Hamilton, on the contrary, 
recommended dilatory and temporising counsels. " I see," 
Montrose replied, " what the end of this will be. The traitors 
will be allowed time to raise their armies, and all will be lost !" 

Her Majesty, however, remembering the Marquis of Hamil- 
ton's extensive influence in his native country, and trusting that 
it might avail for the safety of the throne, inclined to his side. 
The King, who was then negotiating at Oxford, took, when the 
case was referred to him, the same view of the question, and, 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 139 

conferring a dukedom on Hamilton as a token of his confidence, 
sent him back to Scotland with large powers. Montrose, on the 
other hand, disappointed in his hopes, and ill satisfied with his 
reception, retired once more to his estates. 

The disappointment of Montrose at this period is shown by a 
slight pasquinade which has been preserved to us : — ■' On the 
killing of the Earl of Newcastle's dog by the Marquis of Hamil- 
ton in the Queen's garden at York.' This little piece is cer- 
tainly more remarkable for vehemence of invective than for merit 
of poetry. It thus concludes : — 

" Then say, to eternize the cur that 's gone — 
He fleshed the maiden sword of Hamilton !" 

It may be contended, and it is very possible, that had Mon- 
trose's advice been followed, it might have succeeded no better 
than Hamilton's. Certainly, however, it could not have suc- 
ceeded worse. No check was offered on the King's part to the 
violent measures which the heads of the Scottish Covenanters 
showed themselves eager to pursue. They summoned, without 
his authority, a Convention of Estates ; they concerted an alliance 
with the English Parliament against him ; they renewed their 
religious bond with wider objects and a more imposing name, as 
the " Solemn League and Covenant," to which throngs of de- 
luded men subscribed even with tears of joy. But above all 
they set on foot an army of twenty thousand men, under the 
command, as before, of the Earl of Leven. Two officers of 
merit and experience, Baillie and David Leslie, were named, 
the first his Lieutenant, the second his Major-General. Nor 
was this muster merely for show and self-defence, but rather for 
active co-operation against the Royal cause ; and thus in January, 
1644, all preparations being completed without any effectual 
hindrance from the Hamiltons, Lord Leven marched across the 
Tweed to join the Parliament's forces in England. 

During this busy period Montrose had not been inactive. The 
leading Covenanters were eager to draw the Earl once more into 
their party, and reckoned on his repulse at York as favourable 
to their wishes. Accordingly they made him divers overtures, 
of which Montrose, we are assured, only so far availed himself 
as to obtain information as to their further views and designs. 



140 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

In June he held, at his own desire, a conference with Mr. Alex- 
ander Henderson, the Moderator of the Kirk, " a popular and 
intriguing preacher," as aptly described by Hume. To guard 
against the surmises and suspicions which might at such a time 
attend any private interview, Montrose held this conference in 
the open air on the banks of the Forth, close to Stirling Bridge, 
and he was attended by some friends — Keir, Napier, and others, 
as his witnesses. " In my retirement," he said, tl I am alto- 
gether ignorant of your Parliamentary affairs ; indeed I am at a 
loss how to comport myself in these ticklish times, and must beg 
of you, for old acquaintance sake, to tell me frankly what it 
is you mean to do." Henderson fell into the snare, and replied 
without hesitation that it was resolved to send as strong an army 
as they could raise in aid of their brethren in England. The 
preacher next proceeded to descant on the honours and rewards 
which the Covenanting chiefs had in view for Montrose. But 
the Earl, having now obtained the information he sought, put 
an end to the conference, merely asking whether Mr. Henderson 
had any authority from the Parliament for such proposals, and, 
on being answered in the negative, quietly wished him a good 
evening. 

The offers which about this time were more formally made to 
Montrose were to free him from embarrassment by the discharge 
of his debts, and to give him a command in the army second only 
to Lord Leven's. It appears that the vague and indecisive an- 
swers which Montrose for some time returned, raised a suspicion 
against him in some of the Scottish Roj^alists.* "We must own 
ourselves doubtful (although Mr. Napier, in his zeal as a bio- 
grapher, will not for an instant harbour such a thought) whether 
the ill-reception of Montrose at York did not at first make him 
waver in his attachment to the King. If so, however (and we 
do not express any positive opinion on the subject), his wavering 
was neither publicly evinced nor long continued. By no overt 
act, by no authentic declaration, can Montrose be shown to have 
swerved from his principle of loyalty — from that better part 
which he had deliberately chosen and was destined to seal with 
his blood. In that very summer, as we learn from Baillie's 

* Lord Nithisdale to Lord Antrim, May 1 and 8, 1643, as printed in 
Spalding, vol. ii. p. 131. 



THE MAEQUIS OF MONTEOSE. 141 

letter of July 26, the Earl " called a meeting at Old Aberdeen 
of sundry noblemen, to subscribe a writ for an enterprise under 
Montrose's and Ogilvie's conduct, which Huntly subscribed, but 
Marischal refused absolutely, and made Huntly recall his sub- 
scription, — which, in the great providence of God, seems to have 
marred the design." 

In December, 1643, even before the Scottish army had passed 
the Border, the Duke of Hamilton hastened to the Court at 
Oxford to explain and justify the ill-success of his counsels. At 
the same time and place appeared Montrose to urge a change of 
measures ; and, the sword being now drawn, the King had no 
longer any reason to maintain his Declaration and forbid the 
Earl his presence. Charles's displeasure at Hamilton's miscar- 
riages was no doubt considerably heightened by the comments 
of Montrose. He put the newly created Duke under arrest, 
and soon after sent him as a prisoner to Pendennis Castle in 
Cornwall. Nor did his Majesty fail anxiously to ask of Mon- 
trose what means might yet remain to retrieve the Scottish 
affairs. 

In reply, Montrose observed that the favourable opportunity 
which he had pressed at York, had in great measure passed away. 
The plan of Argyle and the other Presbyterian leaders was now 
complete ; their confederacy formed ; their army raised and on 
its march. All the fastnesses and strongholds of Scotland were 
in their hands ; while, on the other side, the King's friends were 
gained over or disheartened, scattered, and disarmed. Still, 
however, by an eye like Montrose's, some gleams of hope might 
be discerned. The Episcopal establishment, recently abolished, 
hateful as it had become in the southern counties, retained many 
partisans in the north and west. The Royal authority was yet 
held in veneration by several of the Highland clans, nor were 
any of them insensible to the promised joys of battle — the cer- 
taminls yaudia, according to the fine phrase which Jornandes 
ascribes to Attila on the morning of the day of Chalons. It 
might also be expected that the less romantic inducements of 
regular pay, or, in default of such, occasional plunder, would 
not be without value in their eyes. Even the vast power of the 
Marquis of Argyle and the Campbells in the "Western Highlands 
might be no unmitigated disadvantage, since while it awed the 



142 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

common herd into submission, it would stir the bolder spirits 
to resistance. 

In this state of things the scheme suggested by Montrose was 
that the Earl of Antrim should despatch a body of two or three 
thousand Irish from Ulster, and land them on the opposite coasts 
of Scotland, while arms and warlike stores should, if possible, 
be obtained from abroad. Montrose himself was to pass the 
Borders with a small escort of horse, provided by the Marquis 
of Newcastle, who commanded for the King in the north of 
England ; he was then to call to arms his own or the King's ad- 
herents in the Highlands, join the body of Irish, and raise the 
Royal Standard. Daring as this scheme appeared, nay, desperate 
as Montrose's detractors call it to this day,* the necessities of 
Charles left him scarcely any other choice. On the 1st of Fe- 
bruary, 1644, the King signed a commission, appointing the 
Earl of Montrose his Lieutenant- General in Scotland, and as a 
further token of his confidence, he a few weeks afterwards raised 
him to the rank of Marquis. 

Thus then was Montrose in some degree enabled to fulfil the 
ardent aspirations of his youth. Then, as his contemporary 
Drummond of Hawthornden assures us, he had written in his 
copy of Quintus Curtius : — 

" So great attempts, heroic ventures, shall 
Advance my fortune or renown my fall !" 

He lost no time in repairing to the scene of his new commission, 
and at the beginning of April, with some aid from the Marquis 
of Newcastle, appeared on the banks of the Annan at the head 
of several hundred horse. He was joined by some noblemen of 
great note — the Earls of Crauford, Nithisdale, Traquair, Kin- 
noul, and Carnwath, the Lords Aboyne, Ogilvie, and Herries — 
and succeeded in seizing the town of Dumfries. All this while 
he was in correspondence with his friends and kinsmen further 
north, who used to meet for secret consultations at the house of 
Keir. Their object was to raise a body of their vassals, and 
push forward to Stirling, there to meet Montrose. They had 
reason to expect that the castle of that place, one of the most 

* " Nothing remained (to the King) but the desperate counsels of Mon- 
trose." — Laing, ' History of Scotland/ vol. iii. p. 244. Ed. 1804. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 143 

important strongholds in Scotland, would be given up to them 
by Major Turner, afterwards Sir James, who had fought under 
Gustavus Adolphus, and since accepted a command in the Par- 
liament's army, but who had grown to feel dissatisfaction (or ac- 
cording to his own plea, scruples of conscience) at its service. He 
says of himself in his Memoirs, " I had swallowed, without chew- 
ing, in Germany a very dangerous maxim, which military men 
there too much follow ; which was, that so we serve our master 
honestly, it is no matter what master we serve."* Such characters 
were by no means uncommon in that age, and have become 
familiar to ours from the admirable sketch of Captain Dalgetty. 

Several obstacles, however, concurred to mar this well-con- 
certed scheme. Of the small militia force which Montrose had 
brought from England part rose in mutiny and part deserted ; 
while on the other side the Sheriff of Teviotdale had mustered a 
large irregular force, and the Earl of Callender was advancing 
at the head of a body of troops. Under such circumstances 
Montrose, far from pushing forward to Stirling, could not even 
maintain his position at Dumfries. He fell back beyond the 
Border, where for some time he carried on a desultory warfare. 
On the 31st of May Baillie writes : — U Montrose ravages at his 
pleasure Northumberland and the Bishoprick [Durham] ; we 
hope it shall not be so long." His principal exploit at this 
period was to reduce the castle of Morpeth, after a regular 
siege of twenty days, and a loss of two hundred men. He 
treated his prisoners with great humanity, dismissing them on 
their parole that they would not again fight against the King. 

Such was the posture of affairs when Prince Rupert, having 
compelled the three Parliamentary generals, Manchester, Leven, 
and Fairfax, to raise the siege of York, most rashly gave them 
battle on Marston Moor. Montrose, who had been summoned 
to the Prince's aid, was already in full march, and had his arrival 
been awaited by Rupert, the day might have been theirs. As it 
was, the valour of David Leslie and of Cromwell, with his brigade 
of Ironsides, changed the first success of the Royalists into an 
utter rout. Newcastle fled the kingdom, Rupert retired into 

* Memoirs, p. 14, as printed for the Bannatyne Club. It appears that 
Turner had already fallen under the suspicion of the Committee of Estates, 
and he was soon afterwards removed from Stirling into England. 



144 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 



Lancashire, and Montrose, finding himself suddenly beset by- 
hostile and victorious armies, fell back upon Carlisle. There his 
little band of horsemen melted away until it could scarcely num- 
ber a hundred, and it became necessary to adopt some decisive 
resolution. Montrose, still undaunted, formed the bold scheme 
of reaching the Highlands in disguise. He bade the rest of his 
followers make their way to the King ; while two of them, his 
trusted friends Sir William Bollock and Colonel Sibbald, secretly 
turned their horses to the north, calling themselves gentlemen 
belonging to Lord Leven's army. Montrose himself rode behind 
them in the garb of a groom, mounted on a sorry nag, and 
leading another in his hand. This is the romantic adventure of 
which Sir Walter Scott has availed himself with such excellent 
skill in his Legend of Montrose. 

Disguise was in this case the more needful, since, in the event 
of falling into the Covenanters' hands, the only alternative before 
Montrose would have been the dungeon or the scaffold. Once 
he seemed on the very brink of discovery. A common soldier, 
who had served in Newcastle's army, passed by on the road, and 
approaching the Marquis, respectfully addressed him by his 
title. In vain did the pretended groom attempt to disavow the 
lofty name. "What!" exclaimed the other, " do I not know 
my noble Lord of Montrose? But go your way, and God be 
with you wheresoever you go." The poor man was true and 
loyal; however high might have been the reward of a disclosure, 
he made none against Montrose. 

Travelling in this manner, Montrose arrived on the verge of 
the Highlands, at the house of his kinsman, Patrick Graham of 
Inchbrakie. Shortly afterwards, for still greater concealment, 
he removed to a solitary hut on the same estate. Meanwhile he 
had sent his two companions to apprise Lord Napier of his com- 
ing, and to gather intelligence of public affairs. They returned 
with evil tidings. The Marquis of Huntly had risen in the 
North, prematurely and without due concert, and accordingly 
with signal defeat. Thus the loyal Gordons were now crushed, 
and Huntly himself a fugitive in the wilds of Caithness ; while 
another of the name, Gordon of Haddo, the ancestor of the 
present Earl of Aberdeen, having become a prisoner of the 
Covenanters, was brought to trial and publicly put to death. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 145 



Roused to resentment rather than intimidated at such news, 
Montrose impatiently waited until the Red Hand of Ulster 
should be stretched forth to his aid. So slight were then the 
communications through the Highlands, that it was not until the 
promised Irish troops drew near to his district that Montrose 
first heard of their landing. Yet they had set foot on Scottish 
ground a month before, and were now irregularly straggling 
forward in quest of their general. Their immediate commander 
was a kinsman of the Earl of Antrim, Allaster, or Alexander, 
Macdonnell, or Macdonald, better known by the corrupted pa- 
tronymic of Colkitto,* a brave and active but uneducated and 
self-willed man. 

It was shortly after the first vague rumours derived from the 
shepherds of the hills, that a more regular communication from 
Colkitto reached Montrose, and the Marquis immediately set 
forth to join him, attired in the dress of an ordinary mountaineer, 
and attended by Inchbrakie alone. The meeting between the 
general and the troops was, at the first moment, a source of mu- 
tual surprise and disappointment. Montrose found his auxiliaries 
amount to less than fourteen hundred men, ill armed and worse 
disciplined. On the other hand, the Irish, who had expected 
something of Royal state and splendour in the King's Lieutenant, 
gazed with disdain on the common Highland garb and the single 
attendant of Montrose. It was under such untoward circum- 
stances that the Marquis displayed his commission from Kino- 
Charles, and first raised the Royal Standard. The spot is still 
shown — on rising ground near Blair Athol, about a mile from 
the house of Lude — and of late years in just commemoration 
marked by a cairn of stones. 

Up to that time only very few Highlanders (these chiefly from 
Badenoch) had joined the Irish troops, although the " Fiery 
Cross " had been already sent round amongst them in the manner 
so well described in the Lady of the Lake. But the presence of 
the King's Lieutenant soon attracted greater numbers. The 
very day after his arrival came eight hundred Athol men, in- 
cluding the Robertsons of Strowan. His own kinsmen, Lord 
Napier and Stirling of Keir, were detained as prisoners at 

* His proper style in Erse was Allaster Mac Coll Keitach — Alexander, 
son of Coll the Left-handed. 



146 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

Edinburgh ; but he was joined on the hill of Buchanty by Lord 
Kilpont, eldest son of the Earl of Menteith, by the Master of 
Maderty, and by Sir John Drummond, with about four hundred 
retainers of their own, of Napier, and of Keir ; these, however, 
principally bowmen. For it deserves remark of Montrose's 
campaigns, that they exhibit, perhaps for the last time in Euro- 
pean warfare, and with no ill success as opposed to musketry, 
the weapons on which England was wont to pride herself in the 
days of yore — the arrow and the bow. Montrose had now passed 
the Tay at or near Dunkeld, and was in full march upon the 
city of Perth. In spite of his increasing numbers, his position 
at that period was fraught with hazard and peril. Behind him 
the Marquis of Argyle, having gathered his clansmen on the 
landing of the Irish, was following in their track, and impatient 
to engage them. In front an army of above six thousand Low- 
landers, under Lords Elcho and Drummond and the Earl of 
Tullibardine, had been drawn together for the defence of Perth 
and the defeat of the mountain invaders. 

Resolved with a wise temerity on forthwith giving battle to 

Lord Elcho's army, Montrose and his Irish came in sight of 

Perth — a splendid prospect, which once seen can never be 

forgotten. It is recorded of the Roman soldiers how, when they 

had climbed the hill of Moncrieff, and first beheld, expanding 

before them, the verdant valley of the Tay, they cried out in 

admiration, " Lo, another Tiber ! See a second Martian plain !" 

But how much fairer still the sight since that rich plain is crested 

by a stately city — since a bridge of many arches has spanned 

that majestic stream ! Montrose found his enemy (it was on 

the morning of Sunday, the 1st of September) drawn up at 

Tippermuir, an open heath within three miles of Perth. They 

were confident of victory alike from superior numbers and from 

fanatic zeal. They had called their array " the army of God," 

and that very morning one of their favourite preachers, named 

Carmichael, had addressed them as follows in his sermon : — " If 

ever God spake truth out of my mouth, I promise you in his 

name a certain victory this day !" For " the arm of flesh," as 

they thought fit to term it — their cavalry force was large, and 

they had nine pieces of artillery ; Montrose, on the contrary, 

had not a single cannon, and only three horses ; the same pro- 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTEOSE. 147 

bably which he had brought from Cumberland, and which were 
now in very ill plight ; they are described by Dr. Wishart as 
omnino strigosi et emadati. \ 

It appears that at this period the Highlanders attached the 
utmost weight to an omen of victory : — 

" Who spills the foremost foeman's life, ' 
That party conquers in the strife !" 

So deeply impressed were they with this gloomy superstition 
that, as is alleged (although Mr. Napier has overlooked the fact), 
on the morning of the battle they put to death in cold blood a 
poor herdsman whom they found in the fields, merely to secure 
to themselves the advantage of the augury. 

How hard the choice between these opposite fanatics ! How 
arrogant appear the superstitions on the one side, how cruel on 
the other ! 

To sustain the enemy's charge of cavalry, Montrose extended 
his front as far as possible, and drew up all his men in one line 
of three deep. In the hind rank he placed the tallest, with 
orders to stand straight ; in the second rank they were to stoop 
forward ; and in the first rank to kneel upon one knee. Lord 
Kilpont and his bowmen were on the left, and the Irish in the 
centre, while on the right, opposed to the most formidable point 
of the Covenanters' array, stood the men of Athol. There Mon- 
trose himself took his station, fighting on foot with his target 
and pike in his hand. His whole force thus drawn up might 
amount to three thousand men. He had so little powder that he 
was obliged before engaging to bid his men be sparing of it, for 
that they had none to throw away. Previous to the onset, how- 
ever, he sent over to the enemy the Master of Maderty to in- 
form them of the King's commission, and desire them in his 
Majesty's name to lay down their arms. But, far from heeding 
the King's commission, the Covenanting chiefs did not even 
respect the laws of nations ; they made the young officer, not- 
withstanding his flag-of- truce, a prisoner, and detained him as 
such during many months. Maderty, we may observe in passing, 
had married Lady Beatrix, the favourite sister of Montrose. 

The result of the engagement made manifest the skill of Mon- 
trose. When Lord Elcho's cavalry came on to the charge they 

l2 



US THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

were received with a sharp fire so long as the ammunition lasted, 
and when that began to fail, a volley of stones did good service. 
Seeing the battle waver, and remembering that Argyle was 
behind, and that there was no retreat for the Royalists, Mon- 
trose determined to stake everything on one decisive throw — a 
brilliant victory, or an irretrievable rout — and thus let loose his 
whole army on the foe. Then was heard the Highland war-cry, 
" savage and shrill ;" then was felt the keen edge of the High- 
land claymore. Several bodies of the Lowlanders fought well ; 
others, including the burghers of Perth, who had enlisted, fled 
shamefully ; but in a brief space the whole Covenanting army 
was driven back in confusion towards the city, leaving all their 
artillerv. colours, and baggage, and about three hundred dead 
upon the field. 

The victory of Tippermuir was immediately followed by the 
possession of Perth, where Montrose obtained arms, clothes, and 
money for his troops. It was afterwards alleged by the Com- 
mittee of Estates at Edinburgh, that instead of the city being 
rielded, the conflict should have been renewed ; and an apology 
on this occasion, entitled ' Reasons for the Surrender of Perth,' 
was drawn up by the resident Ministers. This apology, which 
is still extant,* is of great length, and no inconsiderable interest. 
Of the Fife-men it states : — 

" They were all forefainted and bursted with running, insomuch that 
nine or ten died that night in town without any wound ; and, second, 
an overwhelming fear did take them. Their fear kytlied (showed itself) 
in this, that multitudes breaking up cellars did cast themselves down 
there, expecting the enemy's approach. The Provost came into one 
house, amongst many, where there were a number lying panting, and 
desired them to rise for their own defence. They answered, their hearts 
were away — they would fight no more, although they should be killed ! 
And then, although they had been both willing and stout, they were 
unable to resist, for they had casten all their arms from them by the way." 

In such a state of things we must acknowledge that no further 
defence could well be made. But on the other hand, it cannot 
be denied, even by the most strenuous vindicator or representa- 
tive of the good men of Perth, that no greater contrast could 

* It is printed in ' Montrose and the Covenanters," vol. ii. p. 306 — 313. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 149 

well be imagined than between the hardy Highlanders whom 
Montrose commanded and the stall-fed " panting " burghers of 
the plains. 

But few days were allowed Montrose to reap the fruits of Tip- 
permuir. His Highlanders were returning home in great num- 
bers to see their families or secure their spoil : a kind of desertion 
which re-occurred after every victory. It was useless to refuse 
leave to those who were determined to take it ; and thus it hap- 
pened that Montrose's armies were frequently as much diminished 
by success as other armies by disaster. At this period also 
another tragical cause concurred to the same end. One of the 
bravest chiefs at Tippermuir, the Lord Kilpont, was stabbed to 
the heart in sudden passion by one of his retainers, Stewart of 
Ardvoirlich. The assassin, or, as his own descendant more 
politely terms him, " the unlucky cause of the slaughter of Lord 
Kilpont,"* immediately fled, killing a sentinel who attempted 
to detain him, escaped pursuit under cover of a thick mist, and 
joined the Covenanters, by whom — surely much to their discredit 
— he was well received and afterwards promoted. Kilpont's 
followers, on the other hand, returned home to attend his ob- 
sequies, or rather because his death had broken the main link 
that bound them to Montrose. This story, once obscure and 
well nigh forgotten, has now become enshrined, under the names 
of Lord Menteith and Allan M'Aulay, in its admirable adapta- 
tion — for it can scarcely be called fiction — by Sir Walter Scott. 

With an army thus diminished, Montrose could not pretend 
to maintain Perth against the forces of Argyle. He resolved, 
however, to convert retreat into aggression by turning his arms 
to Aberdeenshire, and calling the gallant Gordons to his stand- 
ard. Rapid and unforeseen as was his march through Angus 
and the Mearns, he was joined on the way by several gentlemen 
and their retainers on horseback, — above all, by the veteran Earl 
of Airlie and his two younger sons, Sir Thomas and Sir David 
Ogilvie. It was, however, with less than two thousand men 
that Montrose appeared upon the banks of the Dee. He found 
in front of him an unexpected enemy. Lord Lewis Gordon, a 

* Letter from Robert Stewart, Esq., of Ardvoirlich, to Sir Walter Scott, 
dated June 15, 1830, and printed in the revised edition of the ' Legend of 
Montrose.' 



150 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

brave but hair-brained and wilful young man, had espoused a 
different party from his father's, and raised some of his father's 
vassals against the Royal cause. With these he had joined Lord 
Burleigh, the Covenanting general, close to Aberdeen, the whole 
force being upwards of two thousand five hundred men. Mon- 
trose, however, attacked them without hesitation on the 13th of 
September, and completely routed them: He was no longer 
without artillery, having with him the guns which he took at 
Tippermuir, and it is said that the novelty of his tactics — mingling 
musketeers and bowmen with his handful of horse — mainly 
tended to the success of the day. In the thickest of the fight 
his voice was heard — " We do no good at a distance — give them 
the broad-sword and butt-end of your muskets — spare them not, 
and make them pay for their treachery and treason !" Nor were 
the troops less animated by the gaiety and gallantry of a com- 
mon Irish soldier, who, when his leg was shot off, was heard 
exclaiming, " Sure, this bodes me promotion, for now that I 
cannot walk, my Lord Marquis must make me a cavalry-man !" 
As Perth had been the prize of Tippermuir, so was Aberdeen 
of this battle. The vanquished troops were pursued to and 
through the streets of the town, which, thus taken as it were by 
storm, suffered cruelly from the excesses of the Irish. It is said 
that they cut down without mercy all those whom they found in 
the streets, and in some cases coolly bid the victim first strip 
himself of his clothes lest they should be soiled by his blood ! It 
may be urged as some slight palliation, that the soldiery were 
incensed by a recent act of perfidy, since a drummer w T ith a flag 
of truce, sent that very morning by Montrose, had been killed — 
whether accidentally, as the Covenanters alleged after their defeat, 
or by design. Nor, in justice to Montrose, should we forget 
how difficult it seems to restrain troops from bloodshed when 
flushed with recent conflict, or from pillage where no regular 
pay can be provided. Yet undoubtedly the people of Aberdeen 
had a claim on every possible exertion of Montrose for their 
rescue, since he had before entered their walls in the service of 
the Covenant, and had then dealt hardly with them for their 
devotion to the Royal cause : — 

tl These things done," continues honest Spalding, " the Lieutenant 
(Montrose) stays Saturday all night in Skipper Anderson's house ; the 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 151 

cruel Irish still killing and robbing. Sunday all day he stays, but 
neither preaching nor praying was in any of the Aberdeens, because 
the Ministers through guiltiness of their conscience had fled. The 
Lieutenant was clad in coat and trews as the Irish was clad. Every 
one had in his cap or bonnet a rip of oats, which was his sign. Our 
town people began to wear the like in their bonnets, but it was little 
safeguard to us, albeit we used the same for a protection. On Monday, 
the soldiers who had bidden behind, rifling and spoiling both Aber- 
deens, were now charged by touk of drum to remove and follow the 
camp under the pain of death."* 

The fears of the Government at Edinburgh were by this time 
thoroughly roused. Their general in England, the veteran Earl 
of Leven, who was now besieging Newcastle, sent home a divi- 
sion of his army, under the Earl of Callender : while they them- 
selves despatched the Earl of Lothian with a large body of horse 
to the assistance of Argyle. Thus reinforced, Argyle put forth 
a proclamation denouncing the King's Lieutenant as a traitor to 
religion, King, and country, and promising a reward of 20,000/. 
to any one who should bring him in — dead or alive. Argyle 
was still following Montrose, though at " a judicious distance," 
as Mr. Laing expresses it, and on the approach of his army to 
Aberdeen, the King's Lieutenant found it necessary to fall back. 
Unlike his rival, Montrose had no supplies or reinforcements to 
expect from the south, and such was his inferiority of numbers 
that he could only hope to counterbalance it by the most extra- 
ordinary skill in his manoeuvres and celerity in his marches. On 
retreating from Aberdeen he destroyed his heavy baggage, con- 
cealed in a morass the guns of Tippermuir, and proceeded up the 
Spey, hoping still to raise the gentlemen of the name of Gordon, 
but he found them resentful of his former campaign against them 
in the service of the Covenant. Thus disappointed, he struck 
into the wilds of Badenoch, and thence into Athol, always pur- 
sued but never overtaken by Argyle. More than once in this 
rapid series of marches and counter-marches he darted back 
towards Aberdeenshire, yet clinging but in vain to the hope of 
Gordon aid. " You heard what followed ?" writes Baillie to 
Spang (April 25, 1645), after noticing the battle of the Bridge 
of the Dee. " That strange coursing, as I remember thrice, 
round about from Spey to Athol, wherein Argyle's and Lothian's 
* History of the Troubles, vol. ii. p. 266. 



152 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

soldiers were tired out ; and the country harassed by both, and no 
less by friends than foes, did nothing for their own defence." 

On one occasion, however, Montrose being then at the Castle 
of Fyvie, he was almost surrounded and overpowered by the 
troops of Argyle and Lothian. Already were the enemy creep- 
ing up the fences and ditches which flanked the high "ground of 
his position ; already at this critical moment had his single com- 
pany of Gordons gone over ; already might he read anxiety and 
apprehension on every face around him. In such trying circum- 
stances Montrose affected an unconcern which he was far from 
feeling. "Come, O'Kyan, what are you about ?" he called to 
a young officer, " cannot you drive these troublesome fellows 
from our defences, and see that they do not disturb us again V* 
This tone of alacrity was answered by a bold rush on the assail- 
ants. They were driven headlong down the hill, Montrose 
himself leading his horsemen in a subsequent charge ; and it 
deserves remark as a proof of the spirit with which the Great 
Marquis could animate his men, that when on this occasion the 
Irish found some bags of gunpowder which the Covenanters had 
left behind, and which the Royalists were much in need of, they 
loudly complained, as of a shameful neglect, that " the rascals 
have forgotten to leave the bullets with the powder ! " 

To these marches of Montrose — marches so rapid and repeated, 
and over summits now beginning to be white with winter snows 
— -the strength of some of his Lowland followers, and the spirit 
of more, proved unequal. By degrees they dropped from his 
ranks, promising, however, and perhaps intending, to return 
next spring. Even Colonel Sibbald, one of his trusty com- 
panions from Cumberland, thus forsook him ; the other, Sir 
William liollock, had been some time before despatched with 
letters to the King. But amidst every defection the veteran Earl 
of Airlie and his two gallant sons would never quit the Standard. 
In revenge for their indomitable loyalty, Argyle had some years 
back laid waste their estate and burned their mansion, on the 
river Isla. An historian might perhaps have overlooked this 
private family feud. But — 

" When granite moulders and when records fail, 
A peasant's 'plaint prolongs the dubious date " — 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 153 

and thtfs the lament for " the bonnie house of Airlie " lives to 
this day in Scottish song-. 

Argyle himself was scarcely less harassed by pursuing than 
the Lowland gentlemen by being pursued. He went to Edin- 
burgh and flung up his commission as general, complaining that 
he had not been sufficiently supported. It seemed to him that 
Montrose had taken up winter-quarters, and must remain cooped 
up in his narrow mountain -track until the return of spring. 

Far different was the design of the Great Marquis. He had 
lately sent Colkitto on a kind of recruiting expedition, to attempt 
to raise the clans in his name and the King's ; and Colkitto now 
returned to Blair of Athol, bringing with him the captain of 
Clanranald and his men, the Macdonalds of Keppoch and Glen- 
garry, the Camerons and the Stuarts of Appin — clans which 
caught the spirit of Montrose, and which even a century from 
his time were still conspicuous for their devotion to the Stuart 
cause. With numbers thus augmented, Montrose resolved to 
carry the war unexpectedly into Argyle's own strongholds. 
" But how shall we find a track," he asked, " or how obtain sub- 
sistence at this season ?" — A soldier of Glencoe started up : 
" There is not a farm," he cried, " or half a farm, under Mac- 
callummore, but I know every foot of it ; and if good water, tight 
houses, and fat cows will do for you, there is plenty to be had !" 

It was the spirit of revenge — revenge both personal and here- 
ditary — which on this occasion nerved the arm and winged the 
steps of Montrose. For several generations had the Houses of 
Campbell and Graham stood in rivalry; the former obtaining 
the larger, and, as the latter deemed, an undue share in the Royal 
favours. Montrose himself had ever found Argyle in his path — 
as a rival when in the service of the Covenant, as an enemy when 
in the service of the Crown. Still greater, if possible, was the 
contrast in their characters. Argyle's was the very opposite of 
the fiery ardour, the chivalrous daring which shone forth in 
Montrose. Caution, prudence, and dissimulation were his pre- 
vailing qualities. Another Drances : 

" Largus opum, et lingua melior, sed frigida bello 
Dextera." 

Not that we would impute want of courage to one whose closing 



154 THE MARQUIS OF MONTEOSE. 

scene was so much marked by composure and firmness ; but his 
courage was without enterprise, it was merely defensive ; it was 
something like the courage of the stag, after long pursuit, when 
he can run no further and is brought to bay in his lair. He 
was much revered by his own race, whose power and influence, 
great as it was already, he had greatly augmented ; but in the 
same proportion was he dreaded and disliked by other clans. 
Besides his patronymic of Maccallummore (or son of Colin the 
Great), which he bore as chief of the Campbells, he was known 
in the Highlands by the nickname of Grumach (or the Grim), 
having a cast in his eye and a sinister expression of countenance. 

It was a saying of this powerful and politic chief that he would 
not for a hundred thousand crowns that any one knew the passes 
which led into his country from the east. Wholly unsuspicious 
of danger, he was residing at Inverary, when towards the middle 
of December his affrighted shepherds and herdsmen came rush- 
ing in from the mountains with news that Montrose and his 
followers had crossed over near the sources of the Tay, and were 
already close at hand. Argyle hastily embarked in a fishing- 
boat and fled, leaving his country to its fate. That fate was 
cruel indeed. The herds and flocks were driven away, the cot- 
tages were set on fire, the male inhabitants fit for arms were put 
to the sword — severities which the thirst of feudal vengeance 
may explain, but in no degree excuse. 

In this emergency Argyle summoned to his aid his kinsman, 
Sir Duncan Campbell of Auchinbreck, a stout soldier, who was 
then commanding' a regiment in Ireland. He also obtained some 
levies from the north and some battalions from the Lowlands ; 
and by these means mustered a force of three thousand men at 
the old castle of Inverlochy, near the place where now Fort 
William stands. On the other hand General Baillie, who had 
succeeded to the commission which Argyle resigned, had brought 
together a still larger force at Inverness. The object of the two 
commanders was to surround and overpower Montrose, who on 
his part perceived that his sole chance of safety lay in forestalling 
their movements and dealing a heavy blow on Argyle before 
fresh Highland reinforcements should arrive. 

" My design," such are Montrose's own words in his letter to the 
King (Feb. 3, 1645), "was to fall upon Argyle before Seaforth and 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 155 

the Frasers could join him. My march was through inaccessible moun- 
tains, where I could have no guides but cowherds, and they scarce 
acquainted with a place but six miles from their own habitations. If 
I had been attacked but with a hundred men in some of these passes, I 
must have certainly returned back, for it would have been impossible to 
force my way, most of the passes being so strait that three men could 
not march abreast. But I was willing to let the world see that Argyle 
was not the man his Highlandmen believed him to be, and that it was 
possible to beat hirn in his own Highlands. The difficultest march of 
all was over the Lochaber mountains, which we at last surmounted, and 
came upon the back of the enemy when they least expected us, having 
cut off some scouts we met about four miles from Inverlochy." 

Another contemporary document, the MS. history of Patrick 
Gordon of Cluny, thus describes the privations borne upon this 
march : — 

"That day they fought, the general (Montrose) himself and the 
Earl of Airlie had no more to break their fast before they went to battle 
but a little meal mixed with cold water, which out of a hollow of a dish 
they did pick up with their knives ; and this was those noblemen's best 
fare. One may judge what wants the rest of the army must suffer ; 
the most part of them had not tasted bread these two days, marching 
over high mountains in knee-deep snow, and wading brooks and rivers 
up to their girdles."* 

It was on the 1st of February, 1645, that Montrose thus came 
in sight of Inverlochy, and prepared to give battle at sunrise the 
next day. At his approach Argyle, who had lately hurt his 
arm by a fall from his horse, and wore it in a sling, embarked in 
his galley, rowed off the shore, and remained at a convenient 
distance a spectator of the conflict. Yet his numbers were on 
this occasion considerably superior to his enemy's. From early 
time the galleys, or Lymphads, have been the armorial bearings 
of the House of Campbell ; but surely they were granted or 
assumed for other feats than these ! 

The Campbells, though forsaken by their chief, fought most 
bravely, " as men," says Montrose himself, " that deserved to 
fight in a better cause;" but, he adds, when it came " to push 
of pike and dint of sword," they were utterly defeated. Fifteen 
hundred of them were killed in the battle or pursuit, including 
Sir Duncan, their leader — " a great slaughter," as Montrose 

* Life and Times, p. 532. 



156 THE MAEQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

declares in his letter to the King next day, " which I would 
have hindered if possible, that I might save your Majesty's 
misled subjects, for I well know that your Majesty does not 
delight in their blood, but in their return to their duty." 

At the very time when these joyful tidings were despatched to 
King Charles, his Majesty, under great discouragements and many 
heavy losses, was endeavouring, but in vain, to conclude a peace 
at Uxbridge. Some of his most anxious thoughts at this period 
turned on his Scottish affairs. On the 30th of January we find 
him write as follows to Secretary Nicholas : — ■ 

" If there be any treaty proposed concerning Scotland, of which I 
forgot to speak at parting, the answer must be, to demand a passport 
for a gentleman to go from me to see what state the Marquis of Mon- 
trose is in ; there being no reason that I should treat blindfold in so 
important a business, nor without the knowledge of him whom I have 
now chiefly employed in that kingdom, and who hath undertaken my 
service there with so much gallantry, when nobody else would." 

After the day of Inverlochy, Montrose again turned his arms 
to Aberdeenshire, where the fame of his recent victory brought 
at last to his aid the long-desired Gordons. He was joined not 
only by Huntly's eldest son, Lord Gordon, but by the younger 
Lord Lewis, the same who had so lately stood in arms against 
him at the Bridge of Dee. Thus supported, Montrose, whether 
to retaliate former havoc on the other side, or to strike terror 
into wavering minds, but in either case with unjustifiable severity, 
let loose the whole fury of vindictive war on the Aberdeenshire 
lowlands. Elgin and Banff were given up to pillage ; Dunnottar 
and Stonehaven to the flames. He was already meditating an 
expedition to the succour of Charles in England, and summoned 
as he went every loyal Scot from sixteen to sixty to join his 
standard. Nor did his activity relax even amidst the pressure of 
the severest family bereavement. His eldest son, Lord Graham, 
had been for some time with him, but unable at his early age (he 
was not yet fifteen) to bear the fatigue of such extraordinary 
marches, he at this period fell sick and died. James his second, 
and now his only son, was pursuing his studies at Montrose ; 
" a young bairn about fourteen years," says Spalding, "learning 
at the schools attended by his pedagogue in quiet manner." Now, 
however, a party of Covenanting cavalry, in a spirit of mean 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 157 

revenge, seized both pedagogue and bairn, and carried them off 
prisoners to Edinburgh, where the boy's kinsmen Napier and 
Keir were still confined. 

The Committee of Estates at Edinburgh, growing more and 
more alarmed at the present success and the future aspirations of 
the Great Marquis, felt the necessity of immediate succour to 
their general Baillie. They sent to his aid a large force of 
cavalry under Sir John Urrey, a true Captain Dalgetty, who had 
first joined the Parliament's army, then gone over to Prince 
Rupert, and been knighted by King Charles ; and then after 
some time rejoined the Covenanters ; nor was this, as we shall 
see hereafter, the last of his transformations. Against such odds 
Montrose could not pretend to maintain the open country, espe- 
cially as Lord Lewis Gordon, whether from his own fickle temper 
©r moved by secret instructions from his father, had now again 
forsaken the Royal Standard ; and though Lord Gordon loyally 
adhered to it, Lewis had been followed by very many gentlemen 
and retainers of the name. Montrose therefore sent back a laro-e 
proportion of his force to the mountains ; but before joining 
them with the remainder (less than one thousand men), resolved 
to strike a blow at Dundee, a town which from the very com- 
mencement of the troubles had been most zealous and warm 
against the Royal cause. At ten o'clock in the morning of the 
4th of April he appeared before the gates. The place, refusing 
a summons to surrender, was stormed in three quarters at once : 
it was reduced before evening ; and the troops were already dis- 
persed in quest of plunder, and Montrose, it is said, preparing to 
fire the town, when he suddenly received news that Baillie and 
Urrey, having combined their forces sooner than he had expected, 
were close at hand with four thousand men. 

The moment was full of peril. Some persons round the Mar- 
quis advised him instantly to make his own escape, and leave his 
troops to their fate. But throughout his life danger and diffi- 
culty were never sources of fear, but rather incentives to Mon- 
trose. He drew together his men (some of them already drunk) 
from their plunder, and began his retreat at sunset in the pre- 
sence of a far superior force, covering the rear himself with his 
horse. He sustained some loss in an attack, but that night was 
in great measure protected by the darkness and by his own 



158 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 



celerity. All next day the pursuit was continued. Next even- 
in^, Baillie and Urrey having divided their forces so as to cut 
off his retreat, he, suddenly altering his line of march at mid- 
night, by a masterly manoeuvre slipped between them, and se- 
cured himself in the hills. It is said, no doubt with much 
exaggeration, that his men had marched sixty miles without either 
refreshment or rest.* Yet still, with every allowance for panegyric, 
we see no reason for distrusting Dr. Wishart's assurance : — "I 
have often heard those who were esteemed the most experienced 
officers, not in Britain only, but in France and Germany, prefer 
this march of Montrose to his most celebrated victories." 

Of the two generals thus baffled, Baillie now turned his arms 
to the district of Athol, which he laid waste with fire and sword, 
according to the cruel but too common practice of that age. 
Urrey marched northwards, was joined by the garrison of Inver» 
ness and the Earls of Sutherland and Seaforth, and then, without 
awaiting Baillie's co-operation, he sought out Montrose. On 
the 9th of May they came to battle at the village of Aulderne, 
near Nairn. The Marquis had about three thousand men, but 
Sir John Urrey at least a thousand more, and Montrose had 
accordingly been careful to secure the advantage of the ground. 
On either side of Aulderne, which stands upon a height, he had 
stationed his army in two wings, having neither centre nor re- 
serve, but artfully disguising the defect by showing a few men 
from behind the houses and inclosures. On the left stood Mon- 
trose with the Gordons and the principal force ; on the right 
Colkitto with the Irish, and a few of the Highlanders. But this 
last being much the strongest quarter, as fortified by dykes and 
fences, Montrose had there placed the Royal Standard usually 
carried before himself, hoping that the sight of it would draw 
the main attack of the enemy upon that impregnable point. Upon 
the whole, his dispositions that day have been compared to those 
of Epaminondas at the battle of Leuctra.f Whether they were 
quite so classical may be questioned ; that they were most able 
and skilful seems clear. 

As the Marquis had foreseen, Sir John Urrey directed his 

* Hume, ' History of England/ ch. 58. In this he follows Wishart too 
implicitly. 

f Laing, ' History of Scotland,' vol. iii. p. 3)7. Ed. 1804. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 159 

principal attack against the point where he saw the Royal Stand- 
ard waving ; but every onset was repulsed with loss by the Irish 
muskeeters and Highland bowmen of Colkitto. Unfortunately, 
however, Colkitto heard some of the enemy, on renewing their 
charge, taunt him with cowardice for remaining under shelter of 
the sheepfolds. His Irish blood caught fire; he forgot his 
instructions ; and he sallied forth into the open ground, where 
his troops were almost immediately thrown into disorder. Just 
then, as Montrose was preparing to join battle with the other 
wing, an officer hastened up and whispered in his ear that 
Colkitto was entirely defeated. Even a hero might have been 
forgiven a moment's faltering ; but that moment's faltering 
might have lost the day. Montrose, never losing his presence 
of mind, immediately turned round to Lord Gordon with a 
cheerful countenance. " What are we about ? " he called out. 
" Here is Macdonald carrying all before him on the left, and if 
we do not make haste he will leave us nothing to do ! Charge ! " 
And at his voice the Gordon chivalry, afraid — it was the only 
fear they could know — of being forestalled in the conflict, poured 
headlong down the hill, and fiercely charged the enemy. The 
new levies of Urrey fled at once ; but his veteran foot stood 
firm, and were nearly all cut to pieces, for in these fierce conflicts 
quarter was seldom asked and seldom given. Thus successful 
on the right, Montrose was enabled to turn to his left wing, 
where Colkitto had been driven back to his inclosures, and was 
hard pressed by the enemy. There, too, the Covenanters being 
routed on Montrose's approach, the victory of the Royalists was 
decided and complete. 

In this engagement the bravery of the Master of Napier, a 
youth of twenty, son of the Lord of that name, and of Montrose's 
sister, was most conspicuous. He had recently escaped from his 
confinement at Edinburgh, full of ardour, thus early gratified, to 
partake in the exploits of Montrose. 

At the time of the battle of Aulderne, General Baillie had 
been marching to the succour of Urrey. He was now joined by 
that officer with the shattered remnant of the beaten army, but 
wisely determined to avoid what he found Montrose desire — the 
hazard of another battle. It needed some time and stratagem on 
the part of the Great Marquis to bring him to action ; at last, 



160 THE MAEQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

on the 2nd of July, they engaged at Alford upon the river Don. 
The result was another brilliant victory to the Royalists, which, 
however, was embittered by the fall of the gallant Lord Gordon, 
mortally wounded in the thickest of the fight. 

Thus in six well-disputed conflicts against superior armies, 
and before the close of a single year — at Tippermuir — at the 
Bridge of Dee — at the Castle of Fyvie — at Inverlochy — at Aul- 
derne — and at Alford — had the Royal cause and the genius of 
Montrose prevailed. Over all the Highlands was now his 
ascendancy acknowledged. The Lymphads, that Campbell en- 
sign, sunk down, while high above them waved, bright with 
recent victory, the banner of the three Escallop Shells on a 
Chief Sable, — the armorial shield of the Grahams. How many 
a loyal heart in England may then have thrilled with the hope 
of such chivalrous aid ! 

" There 's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes, 
There 's Erin's high Ormonde and Scotland's Montrose ; 

Then tell these bold traitors of proud London town, 
That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown ! " 

But, alas ! at this very period, within a few days of the time 
when Alford field was fought — the fatal battle of Naseby dealt a 
last and decisive blow on Charles's cause in England ! 

Far from being disheartened by these tidings, or satisfied with 
his mountain dominion, Montrose undertook without delay to 
invade and reduce the Lowlands. For this purpose it became 
requisite to have a more complete gathering of the clans ; nor 
did they shrink from joining a leader already so far successful in 
a most unequal contest, and recommended by such a train of 
victories. For the first time Montrose saw himself at the head 
of six thousand men. "With these he marched to the Forth. On 
his way through Kinross-shire, his men dismantled and burnt 
Castle Campbell, a noble antique edifice belonging to the Mar- 
quis of Argyle, the ruins of which remain in lonely grandeur to 
this day. It is said that Montrose was urged to this havoc by 
the Ogilvies, in retaliation for their " bonnie house of Airlie." 
Yet we greatly doubt whether his own animosity against Argyle 
needed any such incentive. 

On the other side the Covenanting- chiefs had convened a Par- 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTKOSE. i 6 l 



liament, not at Edinburgh, but first at Stirling, and then at 
Perth, on account of a pestilence which was wasting the Lothians. 
They showed the utmost determination to resist the further 
progress of Montrose, ordered a levy of men throughout the 
kingdom, and brought together their whole remaining force for 
one decisive blow. Notwithstanding their loss in the recent 
battles, they could still, by leaving no reserve, muster an army 
of above seven thousand men. The command was, as before, 
intrusted to General Baillie, but not^ as before, with full power, 
Argyle and other noblemen being appointed a Committee to 
observe and control his movements. Baillie, as a skilful officer, 
wished to avoid any immediate action with the Royalists. " If 
we beat them to the hills," said he, " that will be little advantage 
to us — and to lose the day will be to lose the kingdom." But 
he found his more sagacious counsels overruled by his more 
eager colleagues. It was on the morning of the 15th of August 
that Montrose came in sight of their array at Kilsyth, a village 
adjoining the old Roman wall ; he having previously forded the 
Forth about six miles above Stirling, and Baillie having passed 
by Stirling bridge. From the forward movements of the enemy 
Montrose perceived at once that they were willing to engage. 
" The very thing I wanted ! " he exclaimed. He bid his men 
strip to their shirts, either as a sign of their resolution to fight to 
the death, or merely because, as others say, he wished to disen- 
cumber them of all weight ; they having to charge up hill at the 
hottest season of the year. The battle began by an attack of 
Baillie's vanguard on one of the advanced posts of Montrose ; it 
was repulsed, upon which a thousand of the Highlanders in un- 
controllable ardour rushed forward without waiting for orders. 
Montrose, though displeased at their rashness, saw the necessity 
of supporting them, and sent forward the Earl of Airlie and a 
chosen division to their aid. But the conflict speedily spreading, 
soon resolved itself into a general rush by the Royalists up hill 
against their wavering antagonists. The savage war-yell of the 
Highlanders, and their still more savage aspect this day— as 
dashing forward nearly naked — might have struck dismay into 
more practised soldiers than any the Covenant could muster. 
They gave way in confusion, and with little or no quarter from 
the Royalists, since, by the most moderate computation, not less 

M 



162 THE MARQUIS OF MONTKOSE. 

than four thousand were slain. Some of the fugitives sought 
shelter in Stirling Castle ; others scattered through the Low- 
lands. Argyle, who is not mentioned as present in the fight, 
escaped to the Firth of Forth, where seizing a small vessel, he 
again betook himself to his favourite element — at least whenever 
there was no chance of a naval engagement — the water ! 

The battle of Kilsyth — that last and crowning victory of 
Montrose — made him for the time master of all Scotland. His 
troops or his partisans spread over the low country like a torrent, 
and only the " castled crags" — as Edinburgh, Stirling, and Dum- 
barton- — seemed to lift themselves above the general inundation. 
Argyle and the other leaders of the Covenant fled for safety to 
Berwick. Montrose himself entered Glasgow in triumph, while 
young Napier, pushing forwards to Linlithgow and Edinburgh, 
had the delight of freeing from captivity his father, his wife, his 
sisters, and his uncle, Stirling of Keir. But Lord Graham, the 
only surviving son of Montrose, having been removed for 
greater security to Edinburgh Castle, still remained a prisoner 
in the hands of his enemies. 

The clemency and moderation of Montrose in this his hour of 

triumph may deserve unqualified praise. He was no longer, as 

in Argyleshire, the chieftain thirsting for vengeance on a rival ; 

he was no longer, as at Aberdeen, the general obliged to connive 

at pillage in his soldiers because unable to give them pay. No 

perquisitions were ' made, no punishments inflicted, no acts of 

licence allowed. So anxious was Montrose to prevent the 

smallest outrage from his troops, that on the second day after 

his own entry into Glasgow he sent them out of the city, and 

quartered them, under strict discipline, at Bothwell and the 

neighbouring villages. Many of the King's friends, who had 

hitherto only looked on and wished him well, now came forward 

with professions of their constant loyalty and excuses for their 

past inaction. Nor did there fail to creep forth that numerous 

class of the attendants upon Fortune — all drawn out by success, 

as other reptiles by the sunshine. 

Up to this time the communications of Montrose with his 
Royal Master had been but few and far-between — by precarious 
messengers and most strange disguises. One of these messengers, 
James Small, had reached him in the garb of a common beggar ; 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 163 

another, Thomas Sydserf, son of the Bishop of Galloway, as a 
pedlar of Presbyterian tracts ! The latter is referred to as 
follows in the i Co vent Garden Drollery,' printed in 1672 : — 

" Once like a pedlar they have heard thee brag 
How thou didst cheat their sight and save thy craig,* 
When to the Great Montrose, under pretence 
Of godly books, thou brought'st intelligence." 

Now, however, a high officer of state, Sir Robert Spottiswoode, 
son of the late Primate and himself Secretary for Scotland, was 
enabled to reach Montrose. He was the bearer of a new com- 
mission from Charles, dated at Hereford (June 25th, 1645), and 
appointing the Marquis Captain-General for Scotland, with ex- 
tended powers. All possible solemnity was given to this new 
commission : at a grand review at Bothwell it was first publicly 
handed to Montrose by Sir Robert Spottiswoode, and then read 
aloud to the troops by Archibald Primrose, a lawyer of great 
eminence ; at that time Clerk of the Council, but afterwards Sir 
Archibald and Lord Register, the ancestor of the present Earl 
of Rosebery. Montrose next addressed his soldiers in a short 
but earnest speech ; and lastly, in virtue of Charles's new powers, 
he before them all conferred the honour of knighthood on Col- 
kitto — henceforth Sir Allaster Macdonald. A further use of his 
new powers was the summoning of a Scottish Parliament to meet 
at Glasgow. 

It is remarkable that even at such a crisis Montrose should 
have found leisure to think of future publications in behalf of 
the Royal cause. On the 28th of August we find him writing 
as follows to Drummond of Hawthornden : — 

" Being informed that you have written some pieces vindicating mo- 
narchy from all aspersions, and another named Irene, these are to desire 
you to repair to our leaguer, bringing with you or sending such papers, 
that we may give order for putting them to the press, to the content- 
ment of all his Majesty's good subjects. " Moktrosb." 

It had been the anxious wish of Montrose to be joined by the 

King in Scotland, however much his Majesty's arrival must have 

lessened his own importance and renown. His report of the 

battle of Inverlochy thus concludes : — " Only give me leave, 

* Neck. 

m 2 



164 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

after I have reduced this country to your Majesty's obedience, 
and conquered from Dan to Beersheba, to say to your Majesty 
then as David's general did to his master, ' Come thou thyself, 
lest this country be called by my name.' " — (Feb. 3, 1645.) But 
ever since the fatal day of Naseby the object had plainly become, 
not the sharing of Scottish victory, but rather the retrieving of 
English defeat ; and to this object Montrose most earnestly, and 
with his whole heart, applied himself. He wrote word to the 
King that were he only supported by a small body of cavalry 
(in which force he was chiefly deficient), he might hope to 
march to his Majesty's rescue with 20,000 men. Charles had 
now but little force of any kind at his disposal ; however, he 
was unwilling to cast away, perhaps, the last chance for the pre- 
servation of his Crown. He first designed to join the Marquis 
in person through the northern counties, but that project failing, 
he next intrusted Lord Digby with 1 500 horse to push onward 
and attempt to meet Montrose upon the Border. 

To the Border accordingly Montrose undertook to march. 
But the further he moved from the Highlands the less was he 
supported by the Highlanders. Besides their usual unwillingness 
to be drawn far beyond the shadow of their native mountains, 
they had now a special plea for leave of absence ; it was harvest 
time, and every man eager to get in his own little crop of oats. 
Thus then no sooner had the Marquis announced his march to 
the southwards than many of the Macdonalds under Sir Allaster, 
and of the Gordons under Lord Aboyne, asked permission to go 
home — all faithfully promising, however, to rejoin the Standard 
as soon as possible. But on the other hand Montrose had reason 
to expect powerful reinforcements on the Border. There the 
great House of Buccleuch indeed was adverse, and had contri- 
buted a regiment to Lord Leven's army ; but the Marquis of 
Douglas and the Earls of Roxburgh, Home, Traquair, Annan- 
dale, and Hartfell, professed their loyal zeal and promised their 
active aid. It was found, nevertheless, that these noblemen had 
not so much zeal or so much power, or the Royal cause not so 
much popularity, as had been expected. The cry might be again 
in those districts, not for King or Peer, but as after Flodden — 
" Up wi' the souters of Selkirk, 
And down wi' the Earl of Home !" 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 165 

To say nothing of the enmity between the neighbouring Border 
counties, which the same old ballad denotes : — 

" Up wi' the souters of Selkirk ! 
For they are baith trusty and leal ; 
Then up wi' the men of the Forest, 
And down wi' the Merse to the De'il !" 

Thus, from one cause or the other, Montrose could only obtain 
for recruits a few troops of irregular horse — whom Bishop Guthry 
quaintly designates as the " truthless trained bands !" 

The state of Montrose's affairs at this juncture is well shown 
in a private letter, which on the 10th of September Sir Robert 
Spottiswoode addressed to Lord Digby from Kelso. 

" We are now arrived ad columnas Herculis, to Tweedside, and dis- 
persed all the King's enemies within this kingdom to several places, 
some to Ireland, most to Berwick You little imagine the diffi- 
culties my Lord Marquis hath here to wrestle with. The overcoming 
of the enemy is the least of them — he hath more to do with his seem- 
ing friends. Since I came to him (which was but within these ten 
days, after much toil and hazard) I have seen much of it. He was 
forced to dismiss his Highlanders for a season, who would needs return 
home to look to their own affairs. When they were gone Aboyne took 
a caprice, and had away with him the greatest strength he had of 

horse. Notwithstanding whereof he resolved to follow his work 

Besides he was invited hereunto by the Earls of Roxburgh and Home, 
who when he was within a dozen miles of them have rendered their 
houses and themselves to David Leslie, and are carried in as prisoners 
to Berwick. Traquair has been with him, and he promised more nor 
[than] he hath yet performed. All these were great disheartenings to 
any other but to him, whom nothing of this kind can amaze." 

It will be observed from this letter that the Royalists were 
already informed of the approach of David Leslie. That able 
and active officer had been summoned in haste on Montrose's 
conquest of the Lowlands, and had hurried back to the Tweed 
with the flower of the Scottish army in England — 4000 tried 
veterans, principally horse. Far inferior as was now Montrose's 
army, the Marquis was not unwilling nor unprepared to accept 
a battle, had Leslie advanced straight against him with that 
view. But the Covenanting general seemed to prefer a different 
course ; he marched from Berwick to the Lothians, and appeared 



166 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

to have for his aim to interpose between Montrose and the High- 
lands, and cut off the Royalists' retreat. Montrose, therefore, 
did not imagine that any peril from that quarter could be close 
at hand. 

On the 12th of September, accordingly, the Marquis marched 
from Kelso and encamped his infantry that evening on a level 
plain named Philiphaugh, on the left bank of the Ettrick, while 
he crossed that river with his officers and horsemen to take up 
quarters in the little town of Selkirk. For the greater part of 
that night he was occupied with his friends, Lords Napier, 
Airlie, and Crauford, in framing despatches and reports to the 
King, which were to be sent off at break of day. But mean- 
while General Leslie, after reaching the Lothians, had stopped 
short at Gladsmuir, and then most unexpectedly turning to the 
southward, descended the valley of the Gala to Melrose. There, 
at less than five miles' distance from the Royalist army, he passed 
the night of the 12th ; and it has been justly alleged as a proof 
how little the Royalist cause found favour in this district, that 
thus within reach of half an hour's gallop, no tidings whatever 
should have reached Montrose of his enemy's approach. Early 
next morning Leslie took advantage of a thick mist which pre- 
vailed ; forming his troops in two divisions, he silently drew 
close to Philiphaugh ; then furiously charged both flanks of the 
Royalists at once. It might almost be said that his attack was 
felt sooner than perceived. At the first tidings Montrose sprung 
to horse, gathered his small squadron, and darted across the 
Ettrick to the rescue of his infantry. It is admitted by an 
historian, far from partial to his fame, that " in this extremity 
whatever the abilities of the general or the personal valour of 
the soldier could accomplish was performed by Montrose."* 
With troops not only far outnumbered, but wholly surprised, he 
maintained for some time a most unequal conflict ; and it was 
not until he saw his army slain or scattered, and himself left 
with only Lords Napier and Douglas, and about thirty mounted 
followers, that he could be prevailed upon to attempt escape. He 
fled up the vale of the Yarrow, and then crossed over the moors 
to the vale of the Tweed, reaching at sunset the ancient burgh 
of Peebles. Next day he was rejoined by about two hundred 
* Laing's ' History,' vol. iii. p. 314. Ed. 1804. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 167 

of the fugitive horse, including the Earls of Crauford and Airlie ; 
and with these scanty remnants of his host Montrose cut back his 
way to the Highlands. 

The fatal day of Philiphaugh is still recorded in the tradition- 
ary songs of Selkirkshire. A ballad of more popularity than 
poetical merit truly describes how Leslie under cover of the 
darkness crept close to the Royalist ranks : — 

" A cloud o' mist them weel coneeal'd 
As close as e'er might be. 

When they came to the Shaw burn 
Said he : ' Sae weel we frame, 
I think it is convenient 
That we should sing a psalm !' " 

But we must not dissemble the fact, which we learn from a note 
to the ' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,' that another reading 
of the last line, equally current among the peasantry, consider- 
ably modifies the merit of General Leslie's suggestion : — 

" I think it is convenient 
That we should take a dram !" 

In this rout both the Royal Standards were preserved in a 
remarkable manner. William Hay, brother to the Earl of Kin- 
noul, carried the first; he escaped from the field, and lay for 
some time concealed upon the Borders, after which he travelled 
in disguise to the Highlands, and restored his charge to Montrose. 
The second Standard was saved by a brave Irish soldier, who, 
seeing the battle lost, slipped it from its staff, and wrapped it 
round his body as a shroud, and then forced his way, sword in 
hand, through the enemy. 

The victors of Philiphaugh showed no mercy to the van- 
quished. Of the common prisoners, many were drawn up in the 
court-yard of Newark Castle, on Yarrow, and shot dead in cold 
blood. Their bodies were then interred in haste, and with little 
ceremony, in a neighbouring spot, still known by the name of the 
" Slain-Men's-Lee." " The ground," thus wrote Sir Walter 
Scott in 1829, " being about twenty years since opened for the 
foundation of a school- house, the bones and skulls, which were 
dug up in great quantity, plainly showed the truth of the country 



168 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

tradition."* The captives of higher rank were carefully re- 
served, not in compassion, but for the form of a public trial, and 
the pageant of a public execution. Thus perished at Edinburgh 
and at Glasgow — Sir William Rollock and Sir William Nesbit ; 
the Irish officers, O'Kyan and Lauchlin ; the Secretary of State, 
Sir Robert Spottiswoode (for even statesmen and judges were 
not spared) ; Guthry, son of the Bishop of Moray ; and Murray, 
brother of the Earl of Tullibardine. Lord Ogilvie escaped in the 
disguise of his sister's clothes, and Archibald Primrose was saved 
(so says the family tradition) by the personal friendship of Argyle. 
During this time Montrose was returned to his first recruiting- 
ground of Athol, and in bitter anguish for the impending fate of 
his friends, applied himself to raise another army for their rescue. 
The Athol men and some few of the Highlanders readily joined 
him ; but the leader of the Macdonalds, Sir Allaster, who had 
now tasted the sweets of independent command, found pleas for 
remaining absent from the Standard. Thus also the head of the 
Gordons, the Marquis of Huntly, who had at last emerged from 
his concealment in Sutherland and Caithness, showed himself 
most jealous and untoward. In spite of every discouragement, 
however, the month of October had not passed ere Montrose 
appeared at the head of fifteen hundred men before Glasgow, 
where Sir Robert Spottiswoode and other of the principal pri- 
soners were then confined. He trusted to be able to strike some 
blow for their deliverance, by drawing forth David Leslie to 
action from the walls. But that skilful General forbore from 
giving him the desired opportunity, and Montrose found it neces- 
sary to withdraw, leaving the captives to their doom. General 
Middleton, a soldier of fortune, was afterwards sent against him 
with some troops, and the mountain- warfare continued, but on a 
far lesser scale and more desultory manner than before. Montrose 
lost his kinsman and earliest friend, Lord Napier, who had 
shared in the flight from Philiphaugh, but who, unable at his 
advanced age to sustain such toilsome marches, fell sick and died 
at Fincastle, in Athol. On the other hand, the Marquis obtained 
the co-operation of his former antagonist at Aulderne, Sir John 
Urrey, who, upon some disgust from the Covenanters, veered 
back to the Royal cause. 

* Tales of a Grandfather, second series, vol. i. p. 284. Ed. 1829. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 169 

The termination to this fierce and long-protracted mountain- 
warfare came at last, from the turn of affairs in England. Charles 
had no army left to take the field in the spring, and passed the 
winter at Oxford, with no better prospect before him than to 
find himself encompassed and beleaguered in its walls. Under 
these circumstances he adopted the rash, and, as it proved, 
fatal resolution to join the Scottish troops, then encamped before 
Newark, and to trust to their sentiments of loyalty and honour. 
But even the first hour of his arrival amongst them might con- 
vince the King that he had leaned upon a broken reed. Sir 
James Turner, who was present, thus describes the scene : — 

" In the summer (May, 1646) he (the King) cast himself in the 
Scots' arms at Newark. There did Earl Lothian, as President of the 
Committee, to his eternal reproach, imperiously require his Majesty, 
before he had either drank, refreshed, or reposed himself, to command 
my Lord Bellasis to deliver up Newark to the Parliament's forces, and 
James Graham — for so he called Great Montrose — to lay down arms, 
all which the King stoutly refused, telling him that he who had made 
him an Earl, had made James Graham a Marquis !" * 

The Scottish leaders, with a view of better securing the person 
of their visitor, or, as they had resolved to consider him, their 
captive, immediately marched back with him from Newark to 
Newcastle-on-Tyne, where they began their negotiations for 
selling him to the Parliament of England. Ere long the un- 
happy monarch found himself compelled to send orders for sur- 
rendering the towns and castles which still adhered to him, and 
instruct Montrose to disband his forces and retire into France. 
Montrose, seeing that the command was plainly an extorted one, 
at first hesitated ; but when it was renewed, and when he found 
that his refusal might endanger the Royal Person, he prepared 
to obey. To settle the terms, he held a conference with General 
Middleton in the open air, near the river Isla, each with only a 
single attendant to hold his horse. It was agreed (Middleton 
granting far milder terms than the Convention of Estates ap- 
proved) that the Earl of Airlie and other friends and followers 
of Montrose should retain their lives and property, just as if they 
had not engaged with him, while he and Sir John Urrey were to 
be allowed only safe transportation beyond sea. 

* Memoirs, p. 41. 



170 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 



On the 30th of July, accordingly, Montrose having assembled 
at Rattray the melancholy remains of his army, dismissed them 
in the King's name, and affectionately bade them farewell. 
Their sorrow was deep and sincere. Some fell on their knees, 
and with tears besought that they might follow him wherever he 
went. Here, too, he parted from his constant friend, the brave 
old Earl of Airlie, who left him only at his own request, and 
who had to mourn the loss of a gallant son in the Royal cause — 
Sir Thomas Ogilvie, slain at Inverlochy. 

The Marquis, accompanied by Sir John Urrey and a few 
others, next repaired to his house at Old Montrose, and held 
himself ready for embarkation. But he would not trust the good 
faith of the Committee of Estates so far as to enter the vessel 
which, according to the treaty, they were bound to provide. He 
hired on his own account a small pinnace belonging to Bergen, 
in Norway; and when it had already put out to sea, joined it 
secretly in a fly-boat. On this occasion, and during the voyage, 
he was disguised as the servant of the Reverend James Wood, 
one of his chaplains — thus leaving Scotland as he had entered 
it, in a menial dress. 

The life of Montrose in his banishment was the usual life of 
exiles — an ever-new succession of schemes and projects for re- 
turn, confident predictions of success, and eager applications for 
aid — all ending alike in that hope deferred which maketh the 
heart sick. Surely no Highland steep which the hero had ever 
climbed was so toilsome as that ascent of the stranger's stairs ! 

" Tu proverai si 

com' e duro calle 

Lo scendere e '1 salir per 1' altrui scale !" 

Montrose repaired to Paris (as the King had desired him) to 
receive instructions from the Queen Henrietta Maria ; but found 
Her Majesty wholly governed by her favourite, Lord Jermyn, 
and jealous of all other counsels. On the other hand, however, 
it seems not improbable that, as Clarendon alleges, Montrose 
may have shown at Paris a too haughty consciousness of his own 
great exploits. To make them more fully and generally known, 
his chaplain, Dr. George Wishart, published in 1647 a narrative 
of them in the Latin language, with the title De Rebus sub im- 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 171 

perio Illustrissimi Jacobi Montis [JRosarum Marchionis praeclare 
gestis, Com?nentarius* — an eloquent work, but not free from 
large amplifications. 

Whatever the cause, and whosoever's the fault, it is certain 
that the various proposals which from time to time Montrose 
made to the Queen for attempting the deliverance of his Royal 
Master, were coldly received, and ere long laid aside. Nor 
could Montrose, on any other point, approve the course of con- 
duct pursued at Paris. A project being on foot to obtain for his 
niece, Lilias Napier, some place at Court, he writes thus (July 
26, 1647) to Stirling of Keir:— 

" As for that which you spoke long ago concerning Lilias, I have 
been thinking, but to no purpose, for there is neither Scotsman nor 
woman welcome that way, neither would any of honour and virtue, chiefly 
a woman, suffer themselves to live in so lewd and worthless a place." 

It is not clear, however, from this passage to which Court Mon- 
trose refers — whether to the Court of Anne of Austria or to that 
of Henrietta Maria. 

During the stay of Montrose at Paris, he met with many 
tokens of respect from the most eminent French statesmen. Car- 
dinal de Retz, in a remarkable passage of his Memoirs, speaks of 
him as the only man who had ever reminded him of the heroes 
described by Plutarch — a strong expression from the friend of 
Turenne and Conde ! Cardinal Mazarin made anxious endea- 
vours to enlist for France a chief of so much fame, offering that 
he should be General of the Scots in France, and Lieutenant- 
General in the French army whenever he joined it, with a pro- 
mise of other places and pensions hereafter. But Montrose 
thought any rank below that of Field-Marshal inferior to his 
merit and renown ; and above all, he was unwilling to enter into 
any engagement which might clash with his service (whenever 
it might be called for) to his own King. Having accordingly 
refused the offer, he in March, 1648, quitted Paris, and pro- 
ceeded through Geneva into Germany. At Prague he saw the 
Emperor Ferdinand, who received him most graciously, granted 

* The inscription on the tomb of Dr. G. Wishart (who became Bishop of 
Edinburgh after the Restoration) in Holyrood Chapel, concludes with these 
lines, as we copied them in October, 1846 : — 

" Gestaque Mont-Rosei Latio celebrata cothurno, 
Quantula, proh, tanti sunt monumenta viri !" 



172 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

him the patent of a Field-Marshal of the Empire, and also ap- 
pointed him to the command (immediately under the Emperor 
himself) of levies to be raised on the borders of the Spanish 
Netherlands. To avoid the hostile armies then in the field, the 
Marquis took his further route cireuitously through Dantzic and 
Copenhagen, where he was honourably entertained by his Danish 
Majesty, and from whence he repaired by Groningen to Brussels. 

But, whatever his wanderings, whatever his vicissitudes, Mon- 
trose never lost sight of his first object — another attempt, when- 
ever possible, to restore the Royal cause in Scotland. There is 
still extant, in the Montrose Charter-Chest, his Key for secret 
correspondence with his friends at home, bearing the date of this 
very year, 1648. This paper gives covert names to be used 
instead of the real ones ; and is still remarkable, as showing 
Montrose's view of several characters. For his own he adopts, 
not unaptly, the words Venture Fair. The Earl of Lanerick 
becomes Peter-a- Packs (a juggler). The Earl of Roxburgh, 
whom Montrose suspected of double dealing with David Leslie, 
is designated The Fox ; David Leslie himself is called The Exe- 
cutioner, from his cruelties after the day of Philiphaugh. 
The Marquis of Huntly is called The Moor-game, from his 
having lurked so long in the northern hills. The Water-Fowl 
might have seemed a tempting nick-name for the Marquis of 
Argyle ; but Montrose is content with Ruling Elder, or the 
Merchant of Middleburgh. 

It was about this period in his life that Montrose appears to 
have composed his ' Love Song ' to some fair one whose name is 
not now recorded. This piece of poetry, first published in 1711, 
is of great length and very unequal merit ; we shall only quote 
from it three stanzas, which Mrs. Arkwright has set to music 
with her usual exquisite taste and skill : — 

lt My dear and only love, I pray 
This noble world of thee 
Be governed by no other sway 
Than purest monarchy. 
For if confusion have a part, 
Which virtuous souls abhor, 
And hold a synod in thy heart, 
I '11 never love thee more. 



THE MAEQUIS OF MONTROSE. 173 

"Like Alexander I will reign, 
And I will reign alone ; 
My heart shall evermore disdain 
A rival on my throne. 
He either fears his fate too much, 
Or his deserts are small, 
Who puts it not unto the touch 
To win or lose it all ! 

" But if thou wilt be constant then, 
And faithful of thy word, 
I '11 make thee famous by my pen, 
And glorious by my sword. 
I '11 serve thee in such noble ways 
Was never heard before ; 
I '11 dress and crown thee all with bays, 
And love thee evermore." 

We had promised that we would confine ourselves to these 
three stanzas, yet we cannot forbear the pleasure of transcribing 
one more, which appears to us fraught with singular beauty and 
feeling : — 

" The golden laws of love shall be 

Upon this pillar hung — ■ 

A simple heart, a single eye, 

A true and constant tongue : 

Let no man for more love pretend 

Than he has heart in store, 

True love begun shall never end — 

Love one, and love no more !" 

We are much surprised how Mr. Napier can think — or expect 
any reader of taste to think with him — that these fine stanzas are 
only a political allegory, and denote Montrose's " love for his 
Royal Master, and his anxiety to save him from evil coun- 
sellors !" * Such a notion may, we think, be consigned to the 
same Limbo with that of the Italian commentators who in 
Dante's impassioned allusions to his long-lost Beatrice can see 
nothing but a personification of school-theology ! 

There is another song which we earnestly commend to Mrs. 
Arkwright's attention ; it is not certainly known to be Mon- 
trose's, nor does Mr. Napier notice it ; indeed it has been ascribed 

* Life, &c, p. 426 



174 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

to Mr. Graham of Gartmore. " But Sir Walter Scott," says the 
last editor of the ' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,'* " told me 
he believed these verses to have been the composition of a nobler 
Graham — the Great Marquis of Montrose." We cannot tell on 
what proof Sir Walter relied, but the resemblance in style and 
manner appears to us very strong. Of this, however, our readers 
shall judge for themselves : — 

" If doughty deeds my lady please, 

Right soon I '11 mount my steed, 

And strong his arm and fast his seat 

That bears from me the meed. 

I Ml wear thy colours in my cap, 

Thy picture in my heart, 

And he that bends not to thine eyes 

Shall rue it to his smart. 

Then tell me how to woo thee, love, 

Oh, tell me how to woo thee ! 

" If gay attire delight thine eye, 
I '11 dight me in array ; 
I '11 tend thy chamber-door all night, 
And squire thee all the day. 
If sweetest sounds can win thy ear, 
These sounds I '11 strive to catch ; 
Thy voice I '11 steal to woo thyself, 
That voice that none can match. 
Then tell me how to woo thee, love, 
Oh, tell me how to woo thee ! 

" But if fond love thy heart can gain, 
I never broke a vow, 
No maiden lays her skaith to me — ■ 
I never loved but you. 
For you alone I ride the ring, 
For you I wear the blue ; 
For you alone I strive to sing. 
Oh, tell me how to woo ! 
Oh, tell me how to woo thee, love, 
Oh, tell me how to woo !" 

Keverting from the subject of these songs, and rejecting, as 
we must, Mr. Napier's explanation of the former, we will take 
the opportunity of dealing with another explanation on a different 
* Vol. iii. p. 315. Ed. 1833. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 175 

matter by Bishop Burnet, which seems to us equally groundless, 
and far less innocent. The Bishop states in a passage of his 
History which was suppressed in the former editions, but which 
has been more recently made public : — 

" The Queen Mother (Henrietta Maria) hated Montrose mortally ; 

she heard that he had talked very indecently of 

her favours to him, which she herself told the Lady Susan Hamilton, a 
daughter of Duke Hamilton, from whom I had it. So she sent him 
word to leave Paris (in March, 1648), and she would see him no more. 
He (then) wandered about the Courts of Germany."* 

It might be sufficient, in refutation of this story, to allege the 
devoted loyalty and the chivalrous temper of Montrose. But it 
is decisively disproved by the tenor of the Queen's own letters to 
the Marquis of a later date, as still preserved in the family 
Charter-Chest. Thus, on the 22nd July, 1649, her Majesty 
writes : — 

" I receive (your assurances) with great satisfaction, having that 
esteem for you which can never diminish, but which I shall cherish in 
whatever fortune may befall me, and must claim from you a reciprocal 
esteem for myself." 

Montrose was at Brussels when the execution of King Charles 
was made known to him. In this age of less keen political con- 
tentions, and we may add of more languid political attachments, 
we can scarcely credit the extremity of grief and anguish which 
this fatal intelligence produced in many minds. We are, half 
inclined to doubt and cavil when told, on whatever high autho- 
rity, that some persons fell into convulsions, or sunk into such a 
melancholy as attended them to the grave; while others, as is 
reported, suddenly fell down dead. Montrose himself, as his 
chaplain assures us, swooned away at the news, and was confined 
to his chamber for two days. He then came forth with some 
lines of poetry, still preserved, in which a vigorous thought is 
seen to struggle through a rugged versification, and of which the 
three first words — great, good, and just— denote his opinion 
of his murdered sovereign. 

With such feelings strong in his mind, Montrose immediately 
tendered his allegiance to Charles II., and in the course of the 
next month joined the young King at the Hague. Ere long 
* Oxford ed., vol. i. p. 97. 



176 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

commissioners also arrived at that place from Scotland, acknow- 
ledging the right of succession, and offering to call his Majesty 
to the throne ; but on very hard conditions — requiring him to 
adopt both the Covenants — to put down any other form of reli- 
gion — and to banish from his presence all Malignants — by which 
term they meant the true Royalists, and amongst whom they 
especially named Montrose. Charles, in the extremity to which 
his fortunes were reduced, would not refuse, nor yet, where such, 
sacrifices were demanded, would he accept, these propositions. 
He resolved to keep the commissioners in play: proceeded first 
to Brussels, and thence to Paris, on the plea of consulting the 
Queen Mother — and meanwhile gave private instructions to 
Montrose to raise what forces he could abroad, and with them 
attempt a landing in Scotland. His object, which certainly 
showed no nice sense of political integrity, was, if Montrose 
should succeed, to profit by that success — or, if Montrose should 
fail, then to disavow him, and conclude his own treaty with the 
Covenanting chiefs. 

Whatever may be thought of the part of Charles in these trans- 
actions, Montrose's at least was straightforward, plain, and clear. 
He had counselled the King to reject at once these ignominious 
terms. He had taken no share in the underhand negotiations 
which ensued. He had looked to his Royal Master, and to his 
Royal Master alone. But when he received that Master's com- 
mand to try a descent on Scotland, he displayed the ready obe- 
dience which every subject ought, and the dauntless energy which 
only a hero could. He immediately repaired to the Courts of 
Denmark and Sweden, from both of which, but chiefly from 
Queen Christina — an admirer of romantic enterprises and adven- 
turous characters — he received much encouragement, with a few 
stands of arms and a little money. With this he hired some 
ships and enlisted some German mercenaries ; while the fame of 
his exploits drew around him not a few of the exiled Royalists, 
as Sir John Urrey, and, above all, the Scots. 

We need scarcely perhaps pause to mention that while the 
Marquis was still at the Hague, Dorislaus, an agent of the 
Parliament in that country, was basely murdered by several 
Scottish gentlemen in exile, most of them, as Clarendon states, 
retainers of Montrose. In more modern times Montrose himself 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 177 

has been suspected of participation in that crime ; a charge for 
which there is no evidence, and against which, as we conceive, 
there is every presumption. 

According to Hume, Montrose, after he had left the Hague, 
" hastened his enterprise, lest the King's agreement with the 
Scots should make him revoke his commission." But the papers 
in the Montrose Charter-Chest prove that the Marquis had not 
the smallest reason to expect any revocation. On the 12th of 
January, 1650, Charles sent him the George and Riband of the 
Garter, with letters patent, couched in terms of the highest 
praise. On the same day his Majesty writes — " I conjure you 
not to take alarm at any reports or messages from others, but to 
depend upon my kindness, and to proceed in your business with 
your usual courage and alacrity." And, on the 15th of April, 
when Montrose was already in Scotland, and the King at Breda, 
coming to a treaty with the Covenanters, he uses these words to 
Lord Napier, who had remained at Hamburgh to enlist more 
troops, " I pray continue your assistance to the Marquis of 
Montrose." 

Thus it was that early in the year 1650 — almost immediately, 
it would seem, after receiving the King's orders of the 12th of 
January* — Montrose set sail from Gottenburg, and steered to 
the Orkneys. Even at the outset of his enterprise he sustained 
no slight disaster, since two of his vessels, with about one-third 
of his force on board, perished by shipwreck. At the Orkneys 
he levied a few hundred of the islanders ; but, remote as they 
were, and slightly disturbed as they had been, from the civil 
wars which wasted the main land, they appeared both un warlike 
and unwilling. The whole force of Montrose, though motley 
and ill-compact, was very far from numerous, not exceeding, 
with every addition, twelve or fourteen hundred men. Still, 
however, resolved to try his fortune, he embarked, and once 
more set foot on the continent of Scotland at nearly its furthest 
point, on the coast of Caithness. Here he called the people to 

* On December 15, 1649, Montrose v/rote to Lord Seaforth from Gotten- 
burg, as " being to sett sayle to-morrow for Scotland ;" but he appears to 
have postponed his voyage on purpose probably to await the King's final 
commands. — See Montrose's letters to Lord Seaforth in the Appendix (p. 
441) to the translation of Dr. Wishart's narrative, published in 1819, under 
the title of ' Memoirs of the Marquis of Montrose.' 

N 



178 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

arms, and unfurled three standard.*, two for the King- and one for 
himself. The first of the Royal banners was of black, and re- 
presented the bleeding head of Charles I. on the block, with the 
inscription, Judge and avenge my cause, O Lord ! The 
second bore the Royal Arms, and the motto, Quos pietas 
virtus et honor fecit amicos. And on Montrose's own 
banner appeared the words, Nil medium. 

Montrose had expected the people of Caithness and Sutherland 
to join his standard, but found that for the most part they fled 
at his approach. Like the Orkney men, they had hitherto taken 
little share and felt small concern in the civil wars, and the 
greatest of their feudal chiefs, the Earl of Sutherland, was now 
on the side of the ruling powers ; besides which, they might 
remember the former excesses of Montrose's army, or dread the 
unwonted aspect of foreign troops. Still undaunted, the Marquis 
pursued his march along the eastern coast. He passed by the 
range of hills in sight of Dunrobin Castle, which was garrisoned 
for the Earl of Sutherland, but avoided any nearer approach, 
though a few of his soldiers, who incautiously came within range 
of the castle guns, were made prisoners. From thence, parsing 
with his forces up Strathfleet, he turned into the interior of the 
country. His progress in these desert regions has been well 
described in a MS. Memoir on the District of Assynt, drawn up 
by Mr. George Taylor, of Golspie, from still subsisting records 
and traditions. We owe the communication of this interesting 
document, from whieh we shall make several extracts, to the 
courtesy of the Duke of Sutherland, and to the friendship of his 
brother, Lord Francis Egerton, whom now we are happy to hail 
as Earl of Ellesmere : — 

" The beautiful Highland valley of the Fleet," says Mr. Taylor, 
" being then destitute of roads, the picturesque and formidable appear- 
ance of a great body of armed men winding along its steep sides, and 
the difficulty of marching through narrow defiles and over rocky passes, 
made a deep impression on the inhabitants, who, for a long period after- 
wards, talked extravagantly of the flaunting display of the several ban- 
ners, of the full sonorous notes of the trumpet, and of the martial 
appearance of a body of troopers seated in the high-bowed and antique 
war-saddles of the period." 

The news of Montrose's approach struck a terror at Edinburgh 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 179 

more commensurate to his past renown than to his present strength ; 
it could scarcely have been greater had the hero been already at 
their walls. Colonel Strachan, an officer of some note, was sent 
forward in all haste with a body of horse ; and whatever army 
could be drawn together followed, under General Leslie. Strachan 
found the Royalists advanced to the borders of Ross-shire, and 
unable, from their almost entire want of light cavalry, to obtain 
any tidings of his movements. Thus he could, undiscovered, lay 
an ambuscade for them at the pass of Corbiesdale, on the river 
Kyle ; where, accordingly, at five o'clock in the afternoon of the 
27th of April, Montrose suddenly saw his enemy issue forth, 
close at hand, in three divisions. He beat back the first, but was 
instantly assailed again by Strachan at the head of the second. 
Then did his motley force resolve itself, as it were, into its first 
elements. The un warlike Orkney men threw down their arms, 
and the Germans, retiring to a wood, made a more methodical 
but scarcely less rapid surrender ; while Montrose's few Scottish 
followers fought with a spirit like his own. Some of his bravest 
officers, as young Menzies, were slain by his side ; others, as Sir 
John Urrey and Lord Frendraught, were made prisoners ; and 
the rout became complete. The Great Marquis himself received 
more than one wound, and his horse was killed under him. 
Seeing the day irretrievably lost, he fled from the field, in com- 
pany with the Earl of Kinnoul, having flung aside his cloak, on 
which was embroidered the star of his newly-gained Garter, and 
which, with his George, was afterwards found hidden at the root 
of a tree, and carried in triumph to Edinburgh. He escaped into 
the wild mountain district of Assy nt; and his further adventures, 
hitherto but slightly known, will appear from the following extract 
of the MS. Memoir which we have already quoted : — 

"The wanderings of the unfortunate Marquis after his flight from 
the field of his defeat, and the incidents attendant on his capture in 
Assynt, and on his removal out of the county, have been, in several 
particulars, imperfectly stated in the accounts of his life hitherto pub- 
lished. Without singling out these omissions and inaccuracies, the 
following details convey such information as is considered to be correct, 
and which, in part, is not generally known, connected with the reverses 
that befel that intrepid leader after his defeat, until he was conducted 
out of Sutherland. 

n2 



180 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

" Montrose, and the very few adherents who joined him in his flight, 
being compelled, by the boggy and broken high ground in which they 
obtained temporary safety, to relinquish the horses that carried them 
from the field of battle, and judging that all the surrounding inhabitants 
w r ere opposed to them, wandered into the most desolate and retired parts 
of the wide, extended, and mountainous region that separates Assynt 
from the Kyle of Sutherland ; their object being to pass through the 
hills into the Reay country, then possessed by Lord Reay and the cadets 
of the Mackay family, who were friendly towards the Marquis and the 
cause in which he suffered. The privations of food, and the distress 
and fatigue endured by these strangers in their wanderings, soon became 
insupportable ; and by the evening of the second day after the battle, 
Montrose's companions, with the exception of the Earl of Kinnoul and 
Major Sinclair, left him and returned to the eastward, preferring the 
certainty of being taken prisoners to the risk of perishing in the wilder- 
ness. On the morning of the third day, Lord Kinnoul became so faint, 
and his strength was so exhausted by hunger, cold, and fatigue, that he 
could move no farther. He was therefore necessarily left by his dis- 
tracted and enfeebled companions, without shelter or protection of any 
kind, on the exposed heath ; but Major Sinclair volunteered to go in 
search of and to return with assistance, while Montrose still moving west- 
ward, and now alone, endeavoured to effect his escape to the Reay country. 
" In the course of the same day he came in sight of a small hut, 
occasionally occupied for dairy purposes by one of the Laird of Assynt's 
tenants, at a grazing farm, known by the name of Glaschyle. Before 
leaving Drumcarbisdale, the Marquis disguised himself in the coarse 
woollen short coat or jacket of a countryman ; and now, pressed with 
hunger, he ventured to approach the solitary hut before him, with the 
view of obtaining, if possible, some food, and of being directed in his 
proper course to the Reay country. 

u The tenant of the farm chanced to be there alone; and the tradition 
still is, that Montrose very modestly asked if a stranger who had lost 
his way among the hills could be supplied with food of any description ; 
and that the countryman viewed him, without any suspicion of his rank, 
as a respectable and civil stranger. This temporary place of residence 
was almost destitute of provisions ; but its owner had a supply of whiskey 
in his possession, of which he gave some to the Marquis." 

We pass over in this place a strange supposition of Mr. George 
Taylor, that Montrose during all his Highland campaigns might 
never yet have seen or tasted whiskey ! Such an idea, as it seems 
to us, can only be matched from ' The Rejected Addresses,' when 
we are told of a great traveller returning home : 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTKOSE. 181 



" At dinner fair Adelaide brought up a chicken, 
A bird that he never had met with before!" 

But let us proceed with the Memoir. 

1 The Marquis asked for a second supply of the spirit, and then 
appearing active and vigorous, made inquiry as to the proper direction 
towards the Reay country through the mountain passes to the north. 
The course to be taken was pointed out to him ; and in answer to a remark 
that no stranger could find out the most accessible openings through the 
mountains without a guide, he said he regretted that he was too poor 
a man to pay any guide. 

\: The countryman's curiosity and suspicions were, however, roused 
by this time ; for while Montrose had been drinking the whiskey, the 
breast of his coat, opening partially, displayed to the astonished eyes of 
the countryman the glitter either of a star or of rich metallic embroidery 
on the waistcoat. Montrose proceeded in a north-west direction from 
Glaschyle, followed at a little distance by his recent host, who seemed 
disposed to become better acquainted with the mysterious stranger. 
But as Montrose was ascending a hill situated a few miles to the north 
of Glaschyle, he was met by a servant or scout sent by the Laird of 
Assynt to learn if any strangers were wandering through that part of 
the country. When he observed this man, Montrose endeavoured to 
proceed in another direction ; but finding it impossible to escape, he sat 
down until both the men overtook him, having previously scattered all 
the money in his possession among the heather, a few coins of which 
are said to have been picked up within the last ten years. 

" Niel MacLeod, the Laird of Assynt, then resided at Ardvrack 
Castle, situated on a peninsula in Loch Assynt, in the interior of the 
parish. He was married to a daughter of Colonel John Monro oi 
Lumlair, a military officer of some repute in the north of Scotland, and 
commander of a Sutherland regiment of foot, and who had acquired the 
character of a stern and cruel man. He was nicknamed, and is still 
spoken of by the country-people as Ian JDhu na Cioch (Black John of 
the Breast), in consequence of having been accessory to a barbarous 
mutilation of some women. He and his son, Captain Andrew Monro, 
served under Strachan at the battle of Drumcarbisdale ; and the am- 
buscade so successfully resorted to was effected through the intimate 
knowledge possessed by these officers of the localities of the ground. 
Immediately after the engagement, Colonel Monro forwarded an ex- 
press to his son-in-law, MacLeod of Assynt, and directed him to secure 
such strangers as might escape to the west coast ; and the servant who 
fell in with Montrose near Glaschyle was one of the men despatched 
accordingly to watch the different passes into Assynt. 



182 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

" In answer to questions by MacLeod's servant, Montrose said that 
he was going into the Reay country, but had lost his way, and begged 
to be conducted there ; to this request both the men seemed to agree, 
and promised to conduct him there ; but instead of doing so they con- 
veyed him to MacLeod's castle of Ardvrack, distant about nine miles 
from the place where they met him. When he came in sight of the 
castle, its peculiar situation on a peninsula, so nearly surrounded with 
water as to appear to be what old chroniclers call it, ' The Isle of 
Assynt,' and of which Montrose had previously heard, convinced him 
that he was betrayed, and was now in the power of MacLeod of Assynt. 
He anxiously inquired if it was Ardvrack Castle to which he was con- 
ducted ; when his guides acknowledged that it was, and that he might 
observe MacLeod's lady at its gate waiting to receive him. He hur- 
riedly asked her father's name, and was told, as if to inspire terror, that 
she was the daughter of Black John of the Breast. Tradition bears 
that Montrose, on receiving this information, stood for awhile motion- 
less and aghast ; and then exclaimed that his destiny was fulfilled and 
his fate certain." 

After reciting a wild legend of an old beldame's warning to 
Montrose in his youth, to beware of a black lake and the daughter 
of a black-visaged man, the Memoir thus proceeds : — 

"There is a small dark lake at Drumcarbisdale, where Montrose's 
army was defeated, and MacLeod's lady turns out to be the person 
alluded to by the sorceress ; and it is thus the country-people account 
for the despondency of Montrose when led into MacLeod's castle. His 
fears, however, are easily to be traced to his knowledge of the lady's 
father and brother being actively engaged in the ranks of his enemies ; 
and that MacLeod was also opposed to the neighbouring families and 
clans of Mackenzies and Mackays, who befriended the Royal cause. 
The deceit resorted to by his guides in conducting him to Assynt, while 
they pretended to lead him to the Reay country, was also ominous of evil. 

" On his arrival within the castle, the unfortunate Montrose was 
compelled to rest his weary limbs, and to ponder over his situation, in 
one of the strong vaulted cellars still to be seen in the ruins of the 
building. Here he was closely confined and constantly watched, and 
notice of his capture instantly forwarded to Strachan. He, however, 
used every exertion to induce MacLeod to consent to his liberation, by 
the promise of great rewards and the countenance of the King, if he 
would be permitted to retire to the Reay country or to Orkney. It 
appears that MacLeod never served under Montrose in his previous 
campaigns, although the contrary is sometimes asserted. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 183 

" This Niel MacLeod is said to have been a man of no great decision, 
but his lady is represented by the country-people as having inherited 
the stern, unrelenting disposition of her father, and as the active person 
who kept Montrose in close confinement, and delivered him up to his 
opponents ; and it is even supposed that had MacLeod not been in- 
fluenced by her, he would have permitted the Marquis to escape. 
Major Sinclair was also found traversing the hills, and was conducted 
to the prison of his leader ; but as no accurate directions could be given 
by them to where the Earl of Kinnoul had been left, that nobleman, 
whose body was never discovered, must have perished miserably in 
some solitary recess among the mountains, 

" Montrose was shortly afterwards conveyed from Assynt, and escorted 
to the south by a body of military, under the command of a Major- 
General Holbourn. He and the troops halted for two days at Skibo 
Castle, and there, notwithstanding his misfortunes, Montrose expe- 
rienced a degree of attention and respect which he said more than coun- 
terbalanced the harsh treatment he complained of while at Ardvrack. 
A dowager lady then occupied Skibo ; and on the arrival of the Mar- 
quis and his guards, she prepared a suitable entertainment for them. 
She presided at the dinner table, at the head of which, and immediately 
before her, was a leg of roasted mutton. When Montrose entered the 
room he was introduced to her by the officers who escorted him, and she 
requested him to be seated next to her ; but Holbourn, still retaining 
the strict military order he observed in his march, placed the Marquis 
between himself and another officer, and thus he sat down at Lady 
Skibo's right hand, and above his noble prisoner, before the lady was 
aware of the alteration. She no sooner observed this arrangement than 
she flew into a violent passion, seized the leg of roasted mutton by the 
shank, and hit Holbourn such a notable blow on the head with the 
flank part of the hot juicy mutton as knocked him off his seat, and 
completely soiled his uniform. The officers took alarm, dreading an 
attempt to rescue the prisoner ; but the lady, still in great wrath, and 
brandishing the leg of mutton, reminded them that she received them 
as guests; that as such, and as gentlemen, they must accommodate 
themselves to such an adjustment of place at her table as she considered 
to be correct ; that although the Marquis of Montrose was a prisoner, 
she was more resolved to support his rank when unfortunate than if he 
had been victorious ; and, consequently, that no person of inferior rank 
could, at her table, be permitted to take precedence of him. Order 
being restored, and the mutton replaced on the table, every possible 
civility was thereafter directed by all present towards the Marquis, who 
remained the following day at Skibo, the troops being fatigued with 
heir laborious march from Assynt. On the third day Montrose was 



184 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

removed to Brahan Castle, and while passing farther south another lady 
interested herself more decidedly in his behalf— for he nearly effected 
his escape by a stratagem of the Laird of Grange's wife," 

The incident thus referred to h told as follows by Mr. 
Napier : — 

" The good lady (of Grange) plied the guards with intoxicating 
cheer until they were all fast asleep, and then she dressed the Marquis 
in her own clothes, hoping to save him as his friend Lord Ogilvie had 
been saved. In this disguise he passed all the sentinels, and was on 
the point of escaping, when a soldier, just sober enough to mark what 
was passing, gave the alarm, and he was again secured." * 

We may also add to this narrative that the wretched Laird of 
Assynt appears to have been rewarded by the Covenanters for 
giving up Montrose with a present of four hundred bolls of 
meal. On the other hand, he was tried for his treachery after 
the Restoration, and narrowly escaped the punishment which he 
deserved. 

In Montrose's way to the southward, the illustrious captive 
was exposed to every form of reproach and outrag-e from his 
ungenerous enemies, who showed what their terror had been by 
what their insults were. Thus he was not allowed any change 
of dress, hut was paraded with mean triumph from place to place 
in the same countryman's habit in which he had disguised himself. 
The townsmen of Dundee, greatly as they had suffered from his 
arms, were the first who, much to their honour, provided him 
with clothes and other necessaries suited to his rank. The 
religious authority of the lurk was violently strained not only 
against Montrose himself, but against those who pitied him. 
The Records of the Presbytery of St. Andrew's were printed 
only a few years since for the Abbots ford Club ; and in this 
document we find recorded as offences, with their respective 
punishments, the u having drunk drinks to James Graham ;" or, 
in the case of a minister, the not having "spoken enough for our 
deliverance from James Graham !" 

Even before he arrived at Edinburgh, his doom had been there 
decided. The form of a trial was dispensed with, as with such 
judges it well might ; and it was resolved to proceed against him 

* J4fe and Times, p. 471, 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 185 

on an Act of Attainder passed at the close of 1644, whilst he was 
ravaging the country of Argyle. His barbarous sentence w r as, 
that he should be hanged for three hours on a gibbet thirty feet 
high ; that his head should be affixed to an iron spike at the 
summit of the Tol booth or prison of Edinburgh, and his limbs 
to the gates of the four principal towns in Scotland — Perth, 
Stirling, Aberdeen, and Glasgow ; and that his body (unless he 
had showed signs of penitence, and been released from the cen- 
sures of the Kirk) should be interred among the common felons 
in unconsecrated ground. That no form of insult might be 
wanting, it was further resolved to celebrate his entrance into 
Edinburgh with a kind of mock solemnity. Thus, on Saturday 
the 18th of May, the magistrates met him at the gates, and led 
him in triumph through the streets. First appeared his officers 
bound with cords, and walking two and two ; then was seen the 
Marquis, placed on a high chair in the hangman's cart, with his 
hands pinioned and his hat pulled off, while the hangman himself 
continued covered by his side. The Marquis of Argyle had 
abstained from taking any public part in the sentence, his own 
resentment against Montrose being too open and notorious, but 
he could not deny himself the delight of gazing on his captive 
enemy on the way to an ignominious death. Thus he appeared 
at a balcony as Montrose was dragged along, as did also his son 
Lord Lome, and the wife (a daughter of the Earl of Moray) 
whom Lord Lome had espoused only the Monday before. This 
striking scene, well worthy of a poet or a painter — the rancorous 
exulting persecutors, the vanquished hero, and the pale and 
shrinking bride — has, we observe, only a few weeks since, called 
forth an historical ballad of much spirit and feeling from Lord 
John Manners : — 

" 'Tis pleasant sure in merrie May 
To sit at eventide, 
And gaze down from your balcony, 
With beauty by your side. 

By sorry steeds, in servile cart, 

A high-backed chair is borne — 
The sitter, he hath turned his face — 

Why start you, young Lord Lome ? 



186 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

Good sooth, in yon poor captive dies 

The dreadest of your foes — 
But chained and tied to hangman's cart, 

Ye dare not meet Montrose !" 

It is alleged in a contemporary record that " the reason of his 
being tied to the cart was in hope that the people would have 
stoned him, and that he might not be able by his hands to save 
his face." * If such was indeed the hope of the tyrants, it was 
baffled by the demeanour of the victim. For as the same record 
assures us : — 

il In all the way there appeared in him such majesty, courage, mo- 
desty, and even somewhat more than natural, that even those women 
who had lost their husbands and children in his wars, and who were 
hired to stone him, were upon the sight of him so astonished and moved 
that their intended curses turned into tears and prayers ; so next day all 
the ministers preached against them for not stoning and reviling him." 

It is added, that of the many thousand spectators only one — 
Lady Jean Gordon, Countess of Haddington — was heard to scoff 
and laugh aloud. Montrose himself continued to display the 
same serenity of temper, when at last, late in the evening, he 
was allowed to enter his prison, and found there a deputation 
from the Parliament. He merely expressed to them his satis- 
faction at the near approach of the Sunday as the day of rest, 
" for," said he, " the compliment you put on me this day was a 
little tedious and fatiguing !" 

The Sunday was indeed allowed the sufferer as an intermission 
from insults ; for in that age ihe same minds which thought 
murder meritorious would have shrunk with horror at any hint of 
Sabbath-breaking. But at eight o'clock on Monday morning some 
ministers, appointed for that purpose by the General Assembly, 
entered his cell. They began by admonishing Montrose on his 
natural temper, which, they said, was too '•' aspiring and lofty," 
and on his personal vices, meaning, as they expressed it, " his 
being given to women." On these points Montrose replied to 
them with much humility ; but when they proceeded to arraign 
his public conduct in the King's service, they found his con- 

* Wijrtoun MS., as quoted by Mr. Napier, ' Life and Times, 1 p. 480 ; see 
also p. 198. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 187 

science clear and his resolution firm. He ended the conference 
with these words : — 

" I am very sorry that any actions of mine have been offensive to the 
Church of Scotland, and I would with all my heart be reconciled to the 
same. But since I cannot obtain it on any other terms — unless I call 
that my sin which I account to have been my duty — I cannot, for all 
the reason and conscience in the world." 

This conference over, Montrose was summoned before the 
Parliament to hear his sentence read. He was first placed in 
the criminals' seat, and, according to some contemporary notes, 
"looked somewhat pale, lank-faced, and hairy."* Next, the 
Chancellor, the Earl of Loudoun, in a long speech, upbraided 
him for his violation of the Covenant, his introduction of the 
sanguinary Irish soldiers, and his invasion of Scotland dining a 
treaty with the King. Montrose, finding himself permitted to 
reply, spoke with equal courage, temper, and dignity. He de- 
clared that it was only on account of the King's condescending 
to acknowledge the Estates by treaty that he submitted to 
appear uncovered before them ; and he then proceeded to 
vindicate his conduct 

" as a good Christian and loyal subject. I did engage in the first Cove- 
nant, and was faithful to it For the League, I thank God, I 

was never in it, and so could not break it. How far religion has been 
advanced by it, and what sad consequences followed on it, these poor 
distressed kingdoms can witness His late Majesty gave com- 
mission to me to come into this kingdom to make a diversion of those 
forces which were going from home against him. I acknowledge the 
command ; it was most just, and I conceived myself bound in conscience 
and duty to obey it. What my carriage was in that country many of 
you may bear witness. Disorders in arms cannot be prevented, but they 
were no sooner known than punished. Never was any man's blood 
spilt but in battle, and even then many thousand lives have I preserved ; 
and I dare here avow that never a hair of Scotsman's head that I could 
save fell to the ground. And as I came in upon his Majesty's warrant, 
so upon his letters did I lay aside all interests (of my own) and retire. 
And as for my coming at this time, it was by his Majesty's just com- 
mands, in order to the accelerating of the treaty betwixt him and you, 



* Sir James Balfour's Notes, ' Life and Times,' p. 487. It appears that 
the permission to shave had been refused to Montrose. 



188 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

his Majesty knowing* that whenever he had ended with you, I was 

ready to retire upon his call And therefore I desire you to 

lay aside prejudice, and consider me as a Christian, in relation to the 
justice of my cause — as a subject, in relation to my Royal Master's com- 
mand — and as your neighbour, in relation to the many of your lives I 
have preserved in battle !" 

To this address the Lord Chancellor rejoined, with much heat 
and many hard names : " proving," says his admiring friend, Sir 
James Balfour, " Montrose to be a person most infamous, per- 
jured, treacherous, and of all that ever this land brought forth the 
most cruel and inhuman butcher and murderer of his nation !"' 
After this invective, so unbecoming a high judicial functionary, 
Montrose was compelled to kneel while his sentence was read ; he 
heard it with an unmoved countenance, and was then conducted 
back to prison. There he found another deputation of preachers 
ready to contend with him. But in vain did they endeavour to 
shake his constancy by descanting on all the horrors of his sen- 
tence. He told them that he was more proud to have his head 
fixed on the top of the prison than that his picture should hang in 
the King's bed-chamber ; and that, far from being troubled at his 
legs and arms being dispersed among the four principal cities, he 
only wished that he had limbs enough to send to every city in 
Christendom as testimonies of his unshaken attachment to the 
cause in which he suffered. He drew aside the Reverend Robert 
Baillie, and conversed with him for some time in a corner of the 
room ; but, says one of the other preachers, " Mr. Baillie after- 
wards told us that what he spoke to him was only concerning some 
of his personal sins in his conversation, but nothing concerning 
the things for which he was condemned."* When, however, the 
other preachers continued to urge upon him the heinousness of 
his crime in maintaining the cause of his sovereign, and attempted 
to draw from him some expressions of repentance for his guilt, 
he at last turned away from them with the words, " I pray you, 
gentlemen, let me die in peace !" 

That very evening, when left alone — for no access from either 
friends or kinsmen was allowed him — Montrose wrote, with a 

* MS. Journal by the Rev. R. Trail, as quoted by Mr. Napier, ' Life and 
Times,' p. 490. It is remarkable that Baillie's own Letters and Journals, 
voluminous as they are, contain no notice whatever of Montrose's end. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 189 



diamond, it is said, on his prison window, the well-known and 
affecting lines : — 

" Let them bestow on every airth* a limb, 
Then open all my veins, — that I may swim 
To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake — 
Then place my purboiled head upon a stake ; 
Scatter my ashes — strew them in the air ; — 
Lord ! since thou knowest where all these atoms are, 
I 'm hopeful thou 'It recover once my dust, 
And confident thou 'It raise me with the just." 

The next clay — Tuesday, May 21 — was fixed for the execution ; 
it had been hastened for the purpose of anticipating any interces- 
sion or remonstrance from the King. Early in the morning, Sir 
Archibald Johnston of Warriston, then Clerk- Register, entered 
the prisoner's cell, and found him employed in combing the long 
curled hair, which he wore according to the custom of the Cava- 
liers. " Why is James Graham so careful of his locks ?" muttered 
the Puritan. Montrose replied with a smile, " While my head 
is my own, I will dress and adorn it ; but when it becomes yours, 
you may treat it as you please." 

All preparations being now complete, and the guards in attend- 
ance, Montrose walked on foot from the prison to the Grassmarket, 
the common place of execution for the meanest malefactors, in the 
midst of which arose, conspicuous from afar, the dismal gallows, 
thirty feet high, and covered with black cloth. We have been 
gazing at the spot on the very day on which we write these lines, 
and but few of its permanent objects seem altered since there fell 
upon them the last look of Montrose. Scarce one new edifice — 
nay, scarce even a trace of modern architecture, breaks their gloom. 
There are still the same antique houses of dark massy stone, with 
their manifold rows of windows and their gable roofs — yonder 
still towers the old castle on its beetling precipice — yonder the 
same low portals open to the same dusky closes and wynds. 
Montrose, as proud of the cause in which he was to suffer, had 
clad himself in rich attire — " more becoming a bridegroom," says 
one of his enemies, " than a criminal going to the gallows V'\ 
As he walked along and beheld the instrument of his doom, 

■'•- Point of the compass. 

f Diary of John Nicholl, Notary -public and Writer to the Signet, as 
printed for the Bannatyne Club. 



190 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

his step was not seen to falter nor his eye to quail ; to the 
last lie bore himself with such stedfast courage, such calm 
dignity, as have been seldom equalled and never surpassed. At 
the foot of the scaffold a further and parting insult was reserved 
for him : the executioner brought Dr. Wishart's narrative of his 
exploits, and his own Manifesto, to hang around his neck ; but 
Montrose himself assisted in binding them, and, smiling at this 
new token of his enemies' malice, merely said, " I did not feel 
more honoured when his Majesty sent me the Garter !" He 
then asked whether they had any more indignities to put upon 
him, and finding there were none, he prayed for some time with 
his hat before his eyes. Two of the preachers, Trail and Law, 
were present according to the order of the General Assembly : — 

" But," as the former complains in his Diary, " he did not at all de- 
sire to be released from excommunication in the name of the Kirk — ■ 
yea, did not look towards that place in the scaffold where we stood ; 
only he drew apart some of the magistrates and spake awhile with them, 
and then went up the ladder in his red scarlet cassock, in a very stately 
manner, and never spoke a word ; but when the executioner was putting 
the cord about his neck, he looked down to the people upon the scaf- 
fold and asked, ' How long shall I hang here?' When my colleague 
and I saw him casten over the ladder we returned to the Commission, 
and related the matter as it was."* 

We may add, as the final act of this tragedy, that within a few 
days Montrose was followed to the scaffold by his principal 
officers. Colonel Sibbald, one of his attendants from England — 
Sir John Urrey, by turns his antagonist and his confederate— and 

* It is remarkable that Mr. Napier, who inserts this passage from Mr. 
Trail's ' Diary/ also inserts (without in either case expressing any doubt) an 
" admirable speech," addressed by Montrose to those around him on the 
scaffoid, as " taken in short-hand by one appointed for that purpose, and as 
circulated at the time." Surely Mr. Napier must have overlooked the 
phrase in Mr. Trail's account, that " Montrose never spoke a word." This 
witness was standing close by, and could have had no imaginable motive 
for suppressing in his private diary the fact that Montrose had made a 
speech. On the other hand there is an evident reason why the Royalist party 
at Edinburgh should devise and circulate some last words of the hero as 
honourable and advantageous to their cause ; and accordingly, on examining 
the speech itself, several expressions appear drawn up with that view, as 
when Montrose is made to say — " For His Majesty now living, never people, 
I believe, might be more happy in a King. His commands to me were 
most just. In nothing that he promiseth will he fail ! " This speech, if 
publicly circulated at the time by the Royalists (perhaps in a broadside or 
printed sheet), might be, without further inquiry, admitted by Sir James 
Balfour into his notes. 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 191 

Spottiswoode, a grandson of the Primate — were beheaded by the 
" Maiden;" for thus jocular was the name of the seldom-rusting 
Scottish guillotine. 

According to his sentence, the legs and arms of Montrose were 
cut off and sent as trophies to the four principal towns of Scot- 
land, while his head was affixed to a spike at the top of the Tol- 
booth. There it remained, a ghastly spectacle, during ten years. 
But on the Restoration it was taken down in the presence of 
many of his kinsmen and friends, as his grand-nephew, then 
Lord Napier, and his former host in Athol, Graham of Inch- 
brakie : the scattered limbs were reassembled, and interred with 
due honours in hallowed ground. Immediately after the execu- 
tion Montrose's severed trunk had been carried out and care- 
lessly flung into a hole on the Borough-Moor. But — here again 
we quote the very words of a contemporary record — 

" Two days after the murder the heart of this great hero, in spite of 
all the traitors, was, by conveyance of some adventurous spirits appointed 
by that noble and honourable lady, the Lady Napier, taken out and em- 
balmed in the most costly manner by that skilful chirurgeon and apothe- 
cary, Mr. James Callender, and then put in a rich case of gold."* 

The further fortunes of this doleful relic are traced in a letter 
from the Right Hon. Sir Alexander Johnston, formerly Chief 
Justice of Ceylon, which is dated July 1, 1836, and printed in 
Mr. Napier's Appendix. Although the evidence is for the most 
part of a hearsay and traditionary character, we see no reason 
whatever for distrusting the main facts. We are told, then, that 
the gold filagree box containing Montrose's heart was in the pos- 
session of Francis the fifth Lord Napier of Merchiston, and by 
him given on his death-bed to his eldest and favourite daughter, 
who afterwards became Mrs. Johnston and Sir Alexander's 
mother. She accompanied her husband to India, and during the 
voyage the gold box was struck by a splinter in action with a 
French frigate. 

' ' When in India," continues Sir Alexander, " my mother's anxiety 

* ' Relation of the True Funerals of the Great Lord Marquis of Mon- 
trose, in the year 1661.' — See ' Montrose and the Covenanters/ vol. i. p. 115, 
and vol. ii. p. 552. The same statement is made in the ' Mercurius Caledo- 
nius' of the day (January 7, 1661) ; indeed, in the obsequies of 1661, the 
remains of the trunk appear to have been identified mainly by the absence 
of the heart, as well as of the limbs. 



192 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 

about it gave rise to a report amongst the natives of the country that it 
was a talisman, and that whoever possessed it would never be wounded 
in battle or taken prisoner. Owing to this report it was stolen from 
her, and for some time it was not known what had become of it. At 
last she learnt that it had been offered for sale to a powerful chief, who 
had purchased it for a large sum of money." 

This chief was the Pollygar or captain of Pandlum-Courchy, 
a fort and district in the neighbourhood of Madura. Sir 
Alexander, as a very young man, happened to pay him a visit, 
and induced him to restore the stolen property. It was again 
lost by Mr. and Mrs. Johnston at Boulogne during the French 
Revolution, and was never recovered by them. But whatever 
may have been its final desiination, we can scarcely conceive 
a stranger turn of fate than that the same nerves and sinews 
which had throbbed to the eager pulses of a Scottish hero in the 
Highlands, should a century afterwards come to be worshipped as 
a talisman on an Indian idol shrine ! 

In examining the character and exploits of Montrose, we must 
always bear in mind that when he was put to death he was only 
thirty-seven years old. Several men of the highest powers — as 
Raphael, Pascal, Burns, Byron — have died at that very age, and 
left behind them great works of imperishable fame ; but such 
eminence is less surprising when, as in these cases, it depends on 
imagination and genius rather than on teaching and experience. 
If, on the contrary, we look to warriors and statesmen, we shall 
find that they often pass the mezzo cammin di nostra vita — as 
Dante calls thirty-five — before they are enabled to achieve things 
worthy of renown. Had Marlborough, for example, died at 
forty, or even fifty years of age, he would now be remembered 
only for his early amour with the Duchess of Cleveland, and 
his signal treachery to James II. It seems, therefore, not unrea- 
sonable to conclude that, had the life of Montrose been spared 
and his career prolonged, he might, through many a well-fought 
field, have led other and greater armies to victory. For partisan 
warfare he had already displayed the highest talents, and wanted 
perhaps only opportunity to earn similar distinction in a regular 
campaign. Undoubtedly, he possessed beyond most men the 
high and rare gift of energy — that resolute will which makes 
light of obstacles, and, by boldly confronting, so often over- 
comes them. He believed himself reserved for great enterprises, 



THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 193 

and in his designs might sometimes be accused of preferring the 
vast, the romantic, the soaring, to the more prudent and more 
practicable. 

That Montrose was, as drawn by the master-hand of Clarendon, 
impatient of control and jealous of rivalry, may be readily ad- 
mitted, and seems to follow from other parts of his character. 
For the cruelties which are alleged in his conduct, they can 
neither be denied nor defended ; it can only be pleaded as some 
extenuation, that they were the faults of his country and his age ; 
and that, on the change of fortune, his enemies showed full as 
little of mercy and forbearance. But as to the reproach of 
treachery, which even to this day is urged against him, we can 
discover no valid grounds for it ; and we have, as we hope, ex- 
plained and vindicated that secession from the Covenanters on 
which, as we suppose, the charge proceeds. 

But certainly the point in Montrose's character, at least in his 
riper years, which has given most offence on the one side, and 
attracted most admiration on the other, was his ardent zeal for 
upholding the Crown. In present times there is, of course, far 
less scope for such a feeling. Where the Crown seems per- 
fectly secure — where no danger assails or threatens it — there 
can be of course no honour, no merit, in defending it. Yet still, 
after making every such allowance, there is, to our mind at 
least, an indescribable charm in reverting (as who does not some- 
times ?) from all the changeful politics and uncertain friendships 
of our own day, to that stedfast and undying flame of loyalty 
which glowed in the breast of the ancient Cavaliers. How lofty 
seem such characters as Ormond's, of whom Charles II. used to 
say, that ill-treat that man as he might, he never could make 
him his enemy ! Like a poet of his period, he felt — 

" Loyalty is still the same, 
If it win or lose the game ; 
True as the dial to the sun, 
Although it be not shined upon!" 

And how touching that meditation on the virtues of Charles I., 
which could cheer the captive loyalist through all his dungeon's 
gloom ! — 

" Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron barres a cage. 



194 THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. . 

When linnet-like, confined I 

With shriller note shall sing, 

The mercye, sweetness, majestye, 

And glories of my King, 

When I shall voyce aloud how good 

He is, how great should be ; 

Th' enlarged windes, that curie the flood, 

Know no such libertie !" 

In those times loyalty was no mere effect of reasoning— no 
cold result from the proof that monarchy is the happiest form of 
government for the people ; — loyalty was then something more 
and better. It was then an impulse, an instinct, a natural affec- 
tion like that which binds a child to a parent, and calling as 
little for any previous proofs of exalted merit. Yet did not the 
loyalty of those days imply any undue subservience ; as with a 
parent, there were no cases of guilt or error put beforehand, but 
had either the King or the father bid the subject or the son do 
wrong, the command would have been in either case reverently 
but sturdily withstood. Such was the feeling, which even when 
most sorely tried — on battle-fields and scaffolds — amidst lingering 
imprisonment or unfriended exile — used to animate the gentlemen 
of England, which filled their hearts, and which may even now 
be read underneath their shields — as in the loyaulte^n^ahonte 
of Clinton — or the ung je serviray of Herbert ! 

Delighting then, as we do, to trace either a chivalrous character 
or a loyal zeal, and rinding both united in Montrose — a champion 
worthy the cause and a cause worthy the champion — we have lin- 
gered too long perhaps on our sketch of his achievements. Sure 
we are, however, that no duty of a critic is more binding upon 
him than the endeavour to clear away the mists of calumny from 
the deeds of the departed great. And proud shall we feel if in 
what we have said we have tended, not indeed to dissemble the 
failings and errors of Montrose, but to portray those great ser- 
vices to his King and country, which in the eyes of those who 
maligned him were held as his principal error — if we have been 
able to weave another leaf into his chaplet, or, according to the 
former superstition of his own country, to cast another stone upon 
his cairn 1 



LAST YEARS OF FREDERICK THE SECOND. 195 



LAST YEAKS OF FKEDEBICK THE 
SECOND. 

[Qu. Rev., No. 163. December, 1847.] Sfl^ I 

1. CEuvres de Frederic le Grand, Roide Prusse. Nouvelle Edition. Berlin: 

chez Rodolphe Decker, Imprimeur du Roi, vols, i., ii., et iii. 1846. 

2. Friedrich der Grosse: eine Lebens-Geschichte. Von J. D. E. Preuss. 

Berlin, 4 vols. 1832. 

3. Urkunden-buch zitr Lebens-Geschichte. Von J. D. E. Preuss. Berlin, 

5 vols. 1834. 

In a Convocation held at Oxford on the 1st of July, 1847, "it 
was proposed and agreed that the University Seal should be 
affixed to a Letter of Thanks to His Majesty the King of 
Prussia for his Majesty's gracious present of the three first 
volumes of a magnificent edition of the Works of King Frederick 
the Great." We have no doubt that the good taste of the Royal 
Donor will limit his gift to the earlier volumes, which comprise 
such writings as the Memoires de Brandebourg and L ' Histoire 
de Mon Temps. Were his Majesty to send the complete collec- 
tion, with what feelings could the Reverend Lleads of Houses be 
expected to read — or with what expressions to acknowledge — 
the Commentaire Theologique sur Barbe JBleue, or the Ode, in 
the style of Petronius, on the French fugitives after Rosbach !* 

This new edition comes forth with a splendour well beseeming, 
if not the value of the works, yet certainly the rank of the author. 
No expense has been spared on the paper or the types ; and the 
editor, Dr. Preuss, is eminently qualified for the task from his 
most full and valuable, and on the whole impartial and discri- 
minating, Life of King Frederick which appeared in 1832. 

We shall not be tempted, however, by this opportunity to enter 
into any minute discussion of the writings of the Prussian monarch. 
On his general demerits as an author, the department of letter- 
writing alone excepted, his imperfect mastery of the French in 

* Conge de l'Arme'e des Cercles et des Tonnelliers, CEuvres Posthumes, 
vol. xv. p. 217. 

o2 



196 LAST YEAES OF 



which he chose to write, and his peculiar tediousness both in his 
prose and verse, or rather in his two kinds of prose, the rhymed 
and unrhymed — we imagine that all critics of all countries (unless 
possibly his own) are entirely agreed. Nor do we propose to 
descant either upon the freaks of his youth or the glories of his 
wars. Both are sufficiently well known — the former through his 
own sister, the Margravine de Bareith, and his favourite, Voltaire ; 
— the latter from the pages of more than one historian. But it 
seems to us that his system of administration in peace has by no 
means received the same degree of attention as his military ex- 
ploits. Nor are the habits of his declining age so familiar to us 
as those of his early manhood. It is therefore to these — the life 
of Frederick public and private since the Peace of Hubertsburg 
— that we now desire to apply ourselves. For this investigation 
the biography of Dr. Preuss, with his five volumes of appended 
documents, will supply our best, though by no means our only, 
materials. 

From the Peace of Hubertsburg in 1763 until his death in 
1786, Frederick may be said to have enjoyed uninterrupted 
peace. For although a declaration of war was called forth by 
the Bavarian Succession in 1778, it was merely, as he might 
have termed it in his adopted language, une levee de boucliers ; 
it led scarcely even to a skirmish, far less to a battle or a siege. 
But these twenty-three years of public peace were to the King 
himself very far from years of repose. A slight sketch of his 
daily life at Potsdam or Sans Souci will best portray his unre- 
mitting activity. 

The value of early hours had been felt by Frederick in his 
campaigns, especially when opposed to indolent and luxurious 
courtiers like the Prince de Soubise. " I can well believe," says 
Voltaire, 30th March, 1759 — (he is addressing Frederick and 
alluding to Soubise) — " that the man who draws on his boots at 
four o'clock in the morning has a great advantage in the game of 
life over him who at noon steps into his coach." These early habits 
of Frederick were continued in his years of peace. In summer 
he usually rose at three, seldom ever after four ; in winter he was 
scarcely an hour later. During the prime of his manhood five or 
six hours of sleep sufficed him ; but in his old age the term was 
extended to seven or eight. His ablutions, when performed at all, 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 197 

were slight and few. While still in the hands of his hair-dresser 
he opened his first packet of letters from Berlin ; this packet con- 
tained only such letters as, either by their seals or by Post-office 
notices, were known to come from Prussian nobles. All other 
letters from subjects not of noble birth were opened by some one 
of the four Cabinet-Secretaries. How would his Prussian Majesty, 
thus nice in matters of epistolary etiquette, have stared at Sir 
Robert Walpole, of whom it is recorded that, whenever a batch 
of letters reached him from the country, that from his game- 
keeper was always the first which he perused ! 

The King next proceeded to dress himself, and put on his hat, 
which he wore almost constantly within doors, and took off only 
during interviews with persons of high birth and at dinner time. 
His strict economy was manifest in his dress, for his uniforms 
were usually patched and threadbare, while his boots from age 
and want of blacking appeared of a tawny red. Two of the 
Cabinet-Secretaries now laid before him extracts of the letters 
which they had opened, together with various petitions and me- 
morials. The Adjutant of the Royal Guard brought a Report of 
all strangers who had either arrived at or departed from Potsdam 
the clay before. A similar report as to Berlin had already reached 
the King, inclosed in the first packet of letters. Next came the 
Adjutant- General, with whom Frederick was wont day by day to 
discuss and decide all the affairs of the army. 

Having despatched these affairs, Frederick passed into his 
writing-room, where he began by drinking off several glasses of 
cold water flavoured with fennel-leaves, and employed himself 
with replies to his letters and notes on his memorials. At 
intervals he used to sip several cups of coffee, which, in the last 
twenty years of his life, were always mingled with mustard. 
Not unfrequently, also, he indulged in a little fruit which stood 
ready on the side-table ; of stone-fruit, above all, he was pas- 
sionately fond. Parsimonious as he seemed on most occasions, 
he would buy the earliest forced cherries in the months of De- 
cember and January for his private eating at the rate of two 
dollars each. 

It was the object of Frederick in this, as in other matters, to 
bring forward hidden merit. In a remote district an avenue of 
cherry-trees led, and still leads, from the village of Helmsdorf 



198 LAST YEAES OF 



to the village of Heiligenthal. It excited little notice until 
Frederick, on one of his journeys, having tasted the fruit, was 
struck with its peculiar richness of flavour ; and gave orders that 
some basketfuls of it should be sent every summer to Potsdam. 

While still in his writing-room Frederick allowed himself 
daily half an hour's relaxation with his flute. But even this short 
relaxation was by no means lost time so far as business was con- 
cerned. He once said to D'Alembert that during his musical 
exercises he was accustomed to turn over in his mind his affairs 
of state, and that several of his happiest thoughts for their ad- 
ministration had occurred to him at those times. 

Between eight and ten o'clock the King received the Cabinet- 
Secretaries separately, and gave them his instructions. These 
men, though inferior both in rank and salary, were the chief 
instruments of his sovereign will : for it is not the least among 
the singularities of his government, that only by exception, and 
on special occasions, did Frederick ever see his own Ministers. 
It was in writing that they sent him their reports, — it was in 
writing that he sent them his commands. 

After the Cabinet-Secretaries had been despatched, the occu- 
pations of Frederick until dinner were not so uniformly fixed as 
the preceding. Sometimes he attended the review of his guards 
at eleven ; sometimes took a ride, sometimes a walk, sometimes 
read aloud to himself, and sometimes granted audiences. In 
these— at least with respect to his own subjects who were not of 
noble birth, nor admitted to his familiar intercourse — no Eastern 
Sultan ever maintained more haughty state. We have now lying 
before us two reports of interviews, as printed in the appendix to 
one of Dr. Preuss's volumes ; the one from a President of the 
Chambre des Domaines at Cleves, the other from his colleague, 
a second President at Aurich ; and it appears incidentally that 
although both of them parted from the King with full assurances 
of his approbation and favour, they were not admitted to kiss his 
hand, but only his coat ! 

But whatever might be the previous occupations, as the clock 
struck noon Frederick sat down to dinner. In his youth twelve 
had been the dinner-hour for all classes at Berlin ; nay, his 
ancestor the Great Elector had always dined at eleven. But 
before the close of Frederick's reign the people of fashion 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 199 

gradually extended the hour till two ; and ever since at Berlin, 
as elsewhere, it has become later and later. Well may a French 
novelist of our own time exclaim, " Tons les jours on dine plus 
tard; incessamment on ne dinera plus du tout!" 

Since the close of the Seven Years' War Frederick had re- 
nounced suppers, and dinner became with him, as with Prince 
Talleyrand, his single daily meal. The King was a gourmand 
of the first water ; and had he survived till 1802, would no doubt 
have received the honorary presidency of the Jury Degustateur ; 
or the dedication of Grimod de la Reyniere's i Almanach,' pre- 
ferably even to the Second Consul Cambaceres. The bill of 
fare was daily laid before his Majesty, comprising not merely a 
list of the dishes, but the name of the cook by whom each dish 
was to be dressed ; and these bills of fare were always well 
considered, and often corrected and amended by the Royal hand. 
Sometimes, when they gave promise of some novel experiment 
or favourite dainty — as polentas and eel-pies — the King, in his 
eagerness, would order the dinner to be brought in ten or twelve 
minutes earlier than the appointed hour. After dinner he used 
to mark with a cross the names of those dishes which had afforded 
him particular pleasure. Of wine he drank sparingly ; his 
favourite vintage being from the banks of the Dordogne, and in 
general diluted with water. 

The King's meals, however, were highly social as well as gas- 
tronomic. He frequently invited guests in numbers varying from 
seven to ten, and entertained them with a varied and never-failing 
flow of conversation. There was no limitation as to rank in those 
whom he invited, nor any arrogance of royalty in his behaviour 
towards them ; but they suffered unmercifully from his wit, or as 
his butts, for he especially delighted in such jests as were most 
likely to give pain. Thus, then, came his guests, half pleased 
and half afraid : — 

" In quorum facie miserse magnaeque sedebat 
Pallor amicitiee." 

Politics, religion, and history, with anecdotes of Court and war, 
jocular and serious, were his favourite topics, and were always 
treated with entire freedom and unreserve. When the guests 
amused him, or w r hen the conversation took a more than usually 
interesting turn, the sitting was sometimes protracted from 



200 LAST YEARS OF 



noon till past four o'clock ; in general, however, it ended much 
sooner. 

On rising from table Frederick allowed himself another half 
hour with his flute ; after which the Cabinet-Secretaries brought 
in the letters which he had directed or dictated, and which now 
came before him again transcribed and ready for his signature. 
It was not unusual for the King when signing to enforce the 
object of the letter by adding to it a few clear sharp words. 
Many of these postscripts are still preserved. Thus, when he 
replied to an application for money, there are sometimes found 
appended in the Royal handwriting such phrases as " I cannot 
give a single groschen" or " I am now as poor as Job." Thus, 
when the celebrated singer Madame Mara sent him a long memo- 
rial against some intended arrangements at the Opera, the King's 
postscript is — " She is paid for singing, and not for scribbling."* 
Thus, again, when a veteran General had asked permission to 
retire, the official answer bids him reconsider his request, and 
there follows, manu propria, the significant remark — u The hens 
that will not lay I will not feed !"f 

Bat, perhaps, the most curious of all is the following in five 
words to Baron Arnim, in which five words it will be seen that 
three languages are blended, and each of the three incorrectly : — 
(i Scriptus est scriptus; nicht raisoniren."J 

In some, though not numerous, cases the postscript seems to 
us utterly at variance with the letter. Thus when Colonel Philip 
Von Borcke wished to retire from the army and to live on his 
estates in Pomerania, the King (May 30, 1785) desired a letter 
to be drawn out for his Royal signature, stating " that the said 
Colonel has been always found faithful, brave, and irreproachable 
in times of war, and that his Majesty has been constantly satisfied 
with him ;" but in signing this document the King added with 
his own hand some German words to the following effect : — 
" Abschied for a Prussian who will not serve, and one ought 
therefore to thank God that one gets rid of him." Surely, 
whatever satisfaction or advantage the letter might be intended 

* June 30, 1776. 

f To General Von Lax-Dehnen, January 8, 1773. Two days afterwards 
the King (according to his hint) granted the General his retirement, but re- 
fused him his pension. 

% Oct. 26, 1776— Urkunden-buch, vol. iii. p. 196. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 201 

to confer must have been turned into the very opposite by such 
an addition. 

When this correspondence was completed, the King some- 
times took a walk — out of doors if the weather was fine, or through 
his saloons if it rained. Sometimes he conversed with his friend 
Colonel Guichard, whom he had by patent new-named Quintus 
Icilius, or some other staff-officer ; sometimes he received the 
artists who had executed his commissions, or who brought him 
their works to view. But whenever his leisure served, the hours 
between four and six, or what remained of them, were devoted 
to his literary labours. It was during this interval that he com- 
posed nearly all the volumes in prose and verse which are now to 
be reprinted. Numerous, indeed, they are. As Voltaire says 
of him, and to him (March 24, 1772), " 17 a fait plus de livres 
qu'aucun des princes contemporains n a fait de bdtards 1" 

It is very remarkable, however, and not easily explained, that 
though Frederick practised authorship for almost half a century 
— though every day he was reading and writing German for 
business and French for pleasure — yet he never in any degree 
mastered the spelling of either language. To the last we find 
the strangest errors even in the most common words. Thus 
he writes winter hiverd, old vietj, flesh cher, actress acc- 
trisse, and the word which in private life he most disliked, 

PEYER. 

It is also singular that up to the close of May, 1737, his 
Majesty always signed his name in French according to the usual 
manner, Frederic, but ever afterwards Federic. 

From six till seven o'clock the King had usually a small con- 
cert, in which only musicians or a few amateurs of the highest 
rank were admitted, and in which he himself played the flute. 
By long practice he had acquired excellent skill with that instru- 
ment. In his very last years, however, the decay of his front 
teeth deprived him of this daily recreation. Thus losing the 
power to execute, he lost also the wish to hear, music ; and from 
that time forward he seldom appeared at any concert. 

During Frederick's earlier years his suppers had become justly 
renowned from the wit of the guests whom he there gathered 
round him and from his own. Voltaire thus alludes to them in 
a sketch at that period of his Royal patron's daily life : — 



202 LAST YEARS OF 



" II est grand Roi tout le matin, 
Apres diner grand ecrivain, 
Tout le jour philosophe humain, 
Et le soir convive divin ; 
C'est un assez joli destin : — 
Puisse-t-il n'avoir point de fin !" 

But when, after 1763, the King discontinued his suppers, the 
void thus left in his evenings was supplied by still frequently 
receiving a circle of distinguished men, as some of his generals, 
the Marquis d'Argens, Lord Marischal, and Lucchesini. His 
usual plan was to begin by reading aloud to them a passage from 
some book, which served as a kind of text for the lively conver- 
sation which ensued. During the rest of the evening, or for the 
whole of it when no visitors came, the King was read to by one 
or more lecteurs, selecting either original French works or trans- 
lations into French of the Greek and Latin classics. At about 
nine o'clock he went to bed. 

Such was the daily life of Frederick ; a life not at all varied 
on Sundays or other holy days, but diversified by annual reviews 
of his troops and journeys to his provinces. From his alternate 
toils in the field and labours in the administration, it might be 
supposed that he had in truth an iron frame ; on the contrary, 
however, his health from his childhood was delicate and variable. 
But the want of bodily strength was well supplied by his ardent 
and indomitable soul. The following are his own expressions in 
a letter to Voltaire of the 7th September, 1776 : — 

" As for my plan of not sparing myself, I continue it the same as 
before. The more one nurses oneself, the more feeble and delicate does 
the body become. My trade (mon metier) requires toil and activity, and 
both my body and mind must adapt themselves to this their duty. It is 
not necessary that I should live, but it is necessary that I should act. I 
have always found myself the better for this method. However, I do 
not prescribe it to any one else, and am content to practise it myself." 

It may be observed lhat the sketch of the King's daily life 
makes no reference whatever to a Queen Consort ; yet in 1733, 
under his father's dictation, Frederick had espoused the Princess 
Elizabeth of Brunswick-Bevern, who survived not only through 
his whole reign of almost half a century, but even for eleven 
years afterwards^ namely, till 1797. This Princess was of ex- 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 203 

eraplary character, filled with admiration for the great deeds of 
her husband, and grateful for the slightest token of his notice ; 
and so benevolent, that of the 41,000 dollars assigned her yearly- 
she devoted no less than 24,000 to purposes of charity. Like 
Frederick she had a taste for literature ; but, unlike him, loved 
to encourage the German rather than the French ; and, unlike 
him also, she was embued with a deep and fervent, though un- 
ostentatious, feeling of religion. For some years Frederick, dread- 
ing the resentment of his imperious and brutal father, had lived 
with her on apparently good terms ; but on his own accession to 
the throne he allotted to her the chateau of Schonhausen for her 
separate residence. To the end of her life she never even saw 
the new palaces at Potsdam. At Berlin, however, during winter, 
she had apartments in the Royal palace : the King used to dine 
Avith her in state three or four times every year, and on all occa- 
sions showed her, as her character deserved, marks of his high 
respect and esteem. But the union had been, from the first, a 
constrained one ; and he had little taste for hers, or indeed for 
any female, society ; men were, on all occasions, his chosen and 
favourite companions. 

There are some points, however, real or alleged, in Frederick's 
private life, which we do not wish to discuss at large. We shall 
waive any further testimony, and merely insert without comment 
the following extract from a despatch of our own distinguished 
countryman, Lord Malmesbury, when Envoy at Berlin : — 

" At these moments when he (Frederick) lays aside the Monarch 
and indulges himself in every kind of debauchery, he never suffers the 
instruments or partakers of these excesses to have the smallest influence 
over him. Some few he has rewarded ; discarded several ; but left most 
of them in the same situation he found them."* 

The conduct of Frederick, as a master and in his household, 
cannot be held deserving of praise. Some of his warmest ad- 
mirers, as Dr. Preuss, acknowledge that he was extremely harsh 
towards his servants, chary in wages or rewards to them ; but, on 
the other hand, liberal of sharp reproofs and of blows both with 
his fist and with his cane. These, however, were their lighter 
punishments : when their offences seemed more serious they were 

* Despatch to the Earl of Suffolk, Berlin, March 18, 1776. 



204 LAST YEARS OF 



at once discarded, or sent to prison, or enlisted as common 
soldiers. Thus, for instance, one valet de chambre named Deesen 
or Deiss was thought to have embezzled some money, and had 
been ordered to enter the army as a drummer, when, on the 23rd 
of July, 1775, the unhappy man put a pistol to his head, and fell 
a corpse in Frederick's own ante-chamber. The King was 
startled at the noise, and asked what had happened ; on being 
told, he only remarked, " I did not think that the fellow had so 
much courage."* 

Frederick used to show especial anger and displeasure when- 
ever any man-servant contracted either matrimony or a less legi- 
timate connexion with the other sex. The same prejudice sub- 
sisted against the marriages of his familiar friends and associates, 
as D'Argens, Quintus Xcilius, and Le Catt. It is said, however, 
that in the last few years of Frederick's life, and when himself 
probably conscious of decay, he had become in all respects less 
ungracious and exacting to his household. 

But although gusts and sallies of passion were by no means 
uncommon with Frederick, we scarcely ever find them impel 
him in the transaction of state-business. A few cases to the con- 
trary might be gathered from Dr. Preuss's volumes, but should be 
considered as only exceptions. Thus, on one occasion, a young 
man, a Land-Rath in Brandenburg, wrote to the King to state 
that a flight of locusts had appeared in his district. The King, 
in his answer, expressed his disbelief that any of the plagues of 
Egypt could have strayed so far north. Upon this the young 
Land- Rath sent to Court some of the locusts in a box with air- 
holes, which box was no sooner opened by Frederick than the 
locusts emerged and flew about the room, to his Majesty's great 
annoyance and ire. He immediately despatched a Cabinet order, 
which still exists, under the date of September 27, 1779, directing 
that in future no man shall be admitted a Land- Rath without 
being at least thirty-five years of age — his Majesty, it adds, being 
determined to have henceforth no " children nor pert young 
fellows " | in office. 

Another curious point in Frederick's private life was his pas- 

* Compare Preuss, Lebens-Geschichte, vol. i. p. 424, note, with the 
despatch of Lord Malmesbury of July 29, 1775, giving a milder version of 
the King's reply. 

f Kinder undjunge nase-weise. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 205 

sion for snuff and for lap-dogs. Of the former, Lord Malmesbury 
speaks as follows : — 

" The King is a great taker of snuff. I could not even get a sight of 
his snuff-boxes, of which he has a most magnificent collection. That he 
carries is of an enormous size ; and he takes it not by pinches, but by 
handfuls. It is difficult to approach him without sneezing. They pre- 
tend that the perquisite that comes to the valets de chambre from the 
snuff they get by drying his handkerchiefs is very considerable."* 

With respect to his four-footed favourites, the King had always 
about him several small English greyhounds ; but of these only 
one was in favour at a time, the others being taken merely as 
companions and playmates to the fondling. Thus the others were 
carried out at night and brought in again in the morning, while 
the chosen one slept in his Majesty's own bed, and by day was 
allowed a special chair, well cushioned, and close at his side. 
All of them, however, had licence as they pleased to jump over 
or to sprawl upon the most costly articles of furniture; and 
stuffed leather balls, as playthings for them, were provided in 
the same apartments. Even during his campaigns Frederick 
went attended by these canine companions. Thus, on the 8th 
of December, 1760, when the Marquis d'Argens entered the 
King's quarters at Leipsick, he found Frederick seated on the 
floor with the dogs around, and a dish of fricasseed chicken 
before him, out of which his Majesty with a stick was pushing 
the most dainty morsels to his favourite. As these greyhounds 
died they were buried on the terrace of Sans Souci, with the 
name of each on a gravestone ; and Frederick in his will ex- 
pressed his desire that his own remains might be interred by their 
side — a parting token of his attachment to them, and of his con- 
tempt for mankind ! On this point, however, his wishes have 
not been complied with. 

Of fine horses also, Frederick, like most eminent commanders, 
was fond. Several chargers which he rode were killed or wounded 
under him during his wars. Many of them bore the names of 
celebrated and contemporary ministers, as Choiseul, Briihl, 
Kaunitz, Pitt, and Bute, not as being gifts from these statesmen, 
but as a compliment to them. But poor Bute's was a hard fate. 
When his namesake, the Scottish peer, forsook the alliance with 

* Diaries, vol. i. p. 6. 



206 LAST YEARS OF 



Prussia, and concluded a separate peace with France, Bute, the 
thorough-bred steed, was in requital condemned to be yoked with 
a mule, and employed in drawing to and fro the orange-trees on 
the terraces at Potsdam. 

During the last ten years of his life, Frederick's favourite horse 
for his own riding was called Conde. Almost every day he was 
brought before his Royal master, and fed with his own hand with 
sugar, figs, and melons. 

The strict economy of Frederick had been at first enforced from 
the straits in which his father left him : it was afterwards recom- 
mended by the poverty of his provinces. From such provinces 
it was no light matter to raise the sinews of war against Austria, 
Russia, and France combined. From such provinces, even during 
the later years of peace, it was no easy task to maintain the largest 
standing army in Europe, and to accumulate as treasure in reserve 
several millions of dollars in the vaults of Magdeburg. Yet still 
this great virtue of economy, to which, next to his military genius, 
Frederick owed his triumphs, when it came to be extended to 
trifles, or applied to points where splendour is one element of 
usefulness, seems to belong to the domain of Moliere, and grow 
into the part of Harpagon. Thus, at the King's own table, not a 
bottle of champagne was to be opened without his own special 
command. Thus, again, as we are told by Miiller, the historian 
of Switzerland, Frederick on one occasion, when examining the 
budget of his principality of Neuchatel, detected and exposed an 
error of only three sous. Thus, also, to the very close of his 
reign, he never enabled the Prussian Envoys at foreign Courts to 
assume a state at all commensurate to the importance which 
their country had acquired, but condemned them to languish in 
obscurity on most inadequate stipends, as during his father's 
reign. The tragic fate of Luicius, who had been the Prussian 
Envoy at the Hague in the time of Frederick William I., is 
told by Voltaire with much humour, and no doubt some exag- 
geration. During a severe winter this poor man had no money 
to buy fuel, and ventured to cut down for fire-wood some trees 
in the garden of his official residence ; but the fact came to the 
ears of his Royal Master, who by return of post sent him a 
reprimand, and told him that he should be mulcted on that ac- 
count a whole year's pay ! Upon this, says Voltaire, " Luicius, 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 207 

in utter despair, proceeded to cut his throat with his only razor. 
An old valet-de-chambre came to his aid, and unhappily for him 
saved his life !" 

There were only two of the King's tastes in which he ever 
allowed himself to step beyond the bounds of the most exact eco- 
nomy — in eating and in building. As to the former, we have 
shown already that he belonged to the Apician school. But even 
there he closely weighed the cost. He might sometimes, though 
rarely, be extravagant beforehand, but when once the dainties 
were devoured he would often murmur at the bill. Here is an 
instance. On the 9th of November, 1784, there were several 
additional dishes at his table, and an account of the extra ex- 
penses then incurred was next day presented to him. It 
amounted to 25 thalers 10 groschen and \\ pfennigs. But his 
Majesty, with his own hand, wrote upon the margin : " A rob- 
bery ; for there were at table about an hundred oysters, which 
would cost 4 thalers; the cakes, 2 thalers; the quab's liver, 
1 thaler; the cakes of Russian fashion, 2 thalers: altogether it 
might be, perhaps, 1 1 thalers ; the rest a robbery. To-day there 
was one extra dish ; herrings with pease ; it may cost 1 thaler ; 
therefore everything above 12 thalers is an impertinent rob- 
bery. (Signed) Frederick." 

As to building — if we observe the passion for it, whenever it is 
once engaged in, it may perhaps deserve to be ranked among the 
highest and most engrossing of human pleasures. The case of 
Frederick was no exception to this rule. He took an ever fresh 
delight in the construction of new palaces, and in the adornment 
of the old. In this department, as in most others, he had by 
his indomitable application acquired both knowledge and skill, 
and was able, though not always quite successfully, to direct his 
architects. There commonly lay at his side the volumes of 
Palladio and Piranesi, from which he would give designs, or sug- 
gest ideas, for any of the new constructions in progress. He 
never issued any order for a building without a previous estimate 
of its expense. Yet, notwithstanding this wise precaution, when 
his palace of Sans Souci came to be completed, he was himself 
startled at the cost, and ordered that the accounts should be 
burned, so that no exact knowledge of them might reach posterity. 

The correspondence of Frederick was most multifarious, ex- 



208 LAST YEARS OF 

tending not only to ministers and statesmen, but to many eminent 
authors and familiar friends. On business his letters were always 
clear, brief, and to the point, and frequently deserve the praise of 
an humane and benevolent spirit greatly in advance of his age. 
Thus, when one of his subjects, in 1782, applied for the use of the 
Prussian flag in carrying on the slave trade, the King replies as 
follows : — 

il The traffic in negroes has always seemed to me a disgrace to human 
nature, and I will never either authorise or favour it by any deed of 
mine. Besides, your plan is, it seems, to buy and equip your ship in 
France, and on your return to unload your cargoes of merchandise in 
any European port you please ; this is another reason why I should 
refuse you the use of my flag. However, if this traffic has so many 
charms in your eyes, you need only go back to France, and there gratify 
jour taste as you will. And now, I pray God, &c. — Fjsderic."* 

To estimate the full merit of this letter, let it be remembered how 
far in the rear was still the feeling of England on this subject at 
this date of 1782. How large a majority amongst ourselves were 
still firmly determined to maintain that infamous traffic ! How 
many years of unrewarded toil were still in store for Wilberforce 
and Clarkson ! 

The letters of Frederick to his friends, personal and literary, 
seem to us greatly superior in merit and interest to any of his 
other writings. Though sometimes to our misfortune studded 
with his own mawkish verses, they are often instructive and almost 
always entertaining. The following may serve as a short but 
agreeable specimen of his lighter style. It is addressed to one 
of his Chamberlains, the veteran Baron Pollnitz, who had just 
presented him with an unusual dainty — a turkey fattened upon 
walnuts. 

" Monsieur le Baron, — The turkey which your Serenity was so good 
as to send me was served up at my table this day at noon. So large and 
fine a bird was he, that he was mistaken for an ostrich : his flavour 
proved to be excellent, and all my guests agreed with me in saying that 
you are born to show skill in whatever you choose to undertake. I 
should be sorry, Monsieur le Baron, to remain in arrear with you, and 
not to think of your kitchen as you have kindly thought of mine ; but 



* Potsdam, April 18, 1782. Urkunden-buch, vol. iv. p. 296. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 209 



as among all the fowls of the air there is no creature which seemed 
to me large enough and worthy to be offered you, I betook myself 
to quadrupeds. I assure you that if I could have found a white ele- 
phant like those of the Shah of Persia, I should have sent it you with 
pleasure. Failing this, I have had recourse to a well-fed ox. I said to 
myself, the ox is a useful, a laborious, a heavy animal ; he is an emblem 
of myself. Age, which undermines me, makes me heavier every day. 
I would fain be laborious and useful ; and that I may in some degree be 
useful to you at least, be pleased, Monsieur le Baron, to accept the little 
piece of farm-yard furniture which I take the liberty of offering you, and 
which, not trusting to my own skill, I have had chosen at the most 
expert of all our graziers. And now, Monsieur le Baron, I pray 
God, &c. " Federic. 

" Potsdam, February 6, 1765." 

We will subjoin the Baron's reply : — 

" Sire, — I most humbly beseech your Majesty to accept my most 
humble thanks for the ox which you have deigned to send me. If I 
have not worshipped him like the god Apis of old, I have at least 
received him with all the veneration due to his respectable appearance. 
A crowd of people admired him as he stood at my door, hoping that I 
might regale them with him ; and they were full of envy when they saw 
him led away to my stable, from which he will only stir again to be 
offered up in sacrifice to the greatest of all monarchs — a ceremony that 
will be attended with heartfelt cries of Vive le Roi! Your Majesty 
will, I hope, allow me to conclude my letter with that exclamation, which 
throughout my life I shall join to the feeling of profound respect with 
which I am, &c. " PoELNrrz.* 

" Berlin, February 7, 1765." 

But the favourite correspondence of Frederick at the time, as 
the most interesting to us now, was with Voltaire. Considering 
the violent and public breach between them in 1753 — the con- 
tumelious arrest on one side, and the biting pleasantries on the 
other — it might have been supposed that these two eminent men 
would have ever thenceforth stood asunder ; but the King's ad- 
miration for his late prisoner at Frankfort was most ardent and 
sincere. He thoroughly believed, as he says in more than one 
passage of his writings, that Voltaire as an epic poet surpassed 
Homer, as a tragic poet Sophocles, and as a philosopher Plato. 
He never doubted that the author of the ■' Henriade,' and of the 
' Annales de l'Empire,' would be the main dispenser of fame for 
his own day. On the other hand, Voltaire was by no means 

* Urkunden-bueb, vol. iii. pp. 134, 135, 

P 



2io LAST YEARS OF 

insensible to the honour of numbering a monarch amongst the 
imitators of his versification and the pupils of his philosophy. 
Nor can any man who writes history be insensible to the higher 
merits of him who makes it— who, instead of merely commemo- 
rating, performs great deeds. Thus, even in the midst of their 
quarrel, the seeds of reconciliation remained ; and within a very 
brief period there again arose between them a regular corre- 
spondence, and an exchange of graceful compliments. In 1775, 
for example, the King sent to Ferney a bust of Voltaire in Berlin 
porcelain, with the motto immoktali ; and Voltaire replied in 
the following lines : — 

" Je dis a ce heros, dont la main Souveraine 

Me donne l'immortalite, 

Vous m'accordez, grand homme, avec trop de bonte, 

Des terres dans votre domaine !" 

" To have lived in the age of Voltaire — that is enough for me !'' * 
exclaims the King. " I shall die," cries the philosopher, " with 
the sorrow of not having ended my days by the side of the greatest 
man of Europe, whom I presume to love as much as I admire." | 
The two friends, however, while thus exchanging laurel crowns, 
knew each other well ; and whenever they wrote or spoke to 
third parties were far from gentle in their epithets. Sir Andrew 
Mitchell, for many years our Envoy at Berlin, informs us : 
" What surprises me is, that whenever Voltaire's name is men- 
tioned, his Prussian Majesty never fails to give him the epithets 
he may deserve, which are the worst heart and greatest rascal 
now living ; and yet with all this he continues to correspond 
with him !"| Voltaire, on his part, handled the character of 
Frederick with more wit, but equal rancour. In his secret 
correspondence with D'Alembert and others he often — besides 
other bitter jests — gives the King a covert nickname intended to 
convey a most foul reproach. And whenever during the Seven 
Years' War any disaster befell the Prussian arms, there went 
forth two sets of letters from Ferney — the one to Frederick ex- 
pressing his sympathy and sorrow — the other to some minister or 
general on the opposite side, urging the Allies to pursue their 
victory and to complete the ruin of his friend. 

* To Voltaire, July 24, 1775. 

f To the King of Prussia, February 11, 1775. 

X See the Chatham Papers, vol. ii. p. 30. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 211 

The rich flow of Frederick's conversation is acknowledged and 
praised by all who had approached him, and chiefly by those who 
had themselves a similar skill. In that respect there can be no 
higher testimony than the following from the Prince de Ligne : 

" His tone of voice was sweet, rather low, and as pleasant to hear as 
the movement of his lips, which had an inexpressible grace, was to 
behold. For these reasons it was, I think, that people did not perceive 
the King to be, like Homer's heroes, a little too talkative (un pen 
babillard), although sublime. Certainly it would have been impossible 
to find any man who was a greater talker than the King, but one felt 
delighted that he should be so." 

It is plain, however, that the King, who was, as we shall pre- 
sently see, a warm partisan of monopolies in commerce, used to 
extend the same system to his conversation. The Prince de- 
Ligne, in the same account of his interview, adds with much 
naivete : " After all, thought I to myself, I must find a moment 
to slip in a word !" * 

With his own dependents Frederick loved to season his con- 
versation with practical jests. Thus, finding that the Marquis 
d'Argens was a hypochondriac as to health, he was wont some- 
times in their interviews to interrupt himself with an exclamation 
on the ill-looks of his friend, upon which the poor Marquis used 
to hurry home in affright and keep his bed for the twenty-four 
hours following ! Thus again, one day with the Baron de 
Pollnitz, who was always in want of money, and who had already 
changed his religion, the King slily threw out some hints as to a 
rich canonry in Silesia then vacant and ready for a friend, upon 
which Pollnitz, as Frederick had foreseen, swallowed the bait, 
and that very evening publicly abjured the Protestant for the 
Roman Catholic faith. But when next day he hastened back to 
Court to announce his conversion and to claim the benefice, he 
was told by Frederick to his great dismay, that the prize had just 
before been granted to another candidate. His Majesty added 
with a bitter taunt, though with affected sympathy, " What can 
I do for you now ? Oh ! I recollect that I have still a place of 
Rabbi to dispose of— do you turn Jew, and you shall have it."y 

* Lettres du Marechal Prince de Ligne, vol. i. p. 46, ed. 1809. 
f Thiebault, Souvenirs de Berlin, vol. iii. p. 84, ed. 1804. 

p2 



212 LAST YEARS OF 



With strangers, on the contrary, or with those whom he wished 
to please, Frederick knew how to pay a compliment with inimi- 
table taste and skill. How graceful, for example, his exclama- 
tion to General Laudohn, the most able of all his adversaries, 
during the interviews with the Emperor's Court in 1770, when 
he saw the General seated on the other side of the table : " Pray, 
Sir, take a place at my side ; I do not like to have you 
opposite !" 

In his correspondence, as in his conversation, the King seldom 
referred to the Christian faith without a scoff or a sneer. Having 
entirely made up his mind against its truth, he seems to have 
considered it unworthy of serious argument or even of reverent 
mention. He alludes with peculiar, and we must add most re- 
volting, contempt to the piety of the poorer classes : " That 
peasant," says he in one passage, " who spoke of the Lord God 
with idiotic reverence (une veneration idiote) !" * But there were 
several points of philosophy or natural religion which Frederick 
loved to discuss and to hear discussed in his presence. Foremost 
among these was the immortality of the soul. It is not easy to 
say to which side of that great question his own belief inclined. 
Passages on both sides might be cited from his writings. Nay," 
there is one letter to Voltaire which, as it seems to us, assumes 
each opinion by turns in the course of the same sentence : — 

" My health grows worse and worse, and it is not unlikely that ere 
long I may go to converse on the ' Henriade' with Virgil, and descend 
to that region where our sorrows, our pleasures, and our hopes do not 
follow us ; where your fine intellect will be reduced to the same level 
as a shoe- boy's; where, in short, we shall find ourselves in the same 
state as before we were born." (October 31, 1760.) 

Now, if, as the latter part of the sentence intimates, Frederick 
really held the gloomy faith of the ancient Roman : 

" Quaeris, quo jaceas post obitum loco ? 
Quo non nata jacent " — 

— it is plain that there could be no prospect, as in the first part 
of the sentence, of communir/g with the spirit of Virgil or with 
any other. So inconsistent with itself is infidelity ! 

The private life of Frederick in his later years as we have now 

* To Voltaire, February 3, 1742. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 213 

portrayed it, without, as we believe, either exaggeration or con- 
cealment, contains beyond all question much that is harsh and 
strange, many things which may be laughed at, and many which 
must be lamented. With such a life it seems at first sight in- 
credible how even the interested adulation of the French philo- 
sophists could award him the epithet of " Great." Perhaps, too, 
our satisfaction at this epithet will hardly increase when we are 
told how freely it was adopted by himself, — how frequently the 
words " fridericvs magnvs" appear on his own inscriptions. 
But how changed the scene when we come to view the same 
character from another aspect — as a statesman or a warrior ! 
The injustice of all his wars — since all arose in fact from his 
robbery of Silesia in the first year of his reign, with no other 
right than the right of the stronger, and no better plea than the 
wolf in the fable gives the lamb — this injustice, great and 
grievous though it be, can scarcely dim the lustre of his victories. 
Who could forget that immortal strife of Seven Years, when, 
with no other ally than England, Frederick stood firm against 
all the chief powers of the Continent combined ? Who could 
fail to admire that self-taught skill with which he overthrew his 
enemies, or that lofty spirit with which he bore, and at last re- 
trieved, reverses? How heroic he appears at Rosbach when 
scattering 1 far and wide the threefold numbers of France ! How 
heroic when, after that battle, which as he said himself had 
merely gained him leisure to fight another battle elsewhere (so 
closely was he then beset with foes), he marched against the 
Austrians in Silesia, disregarded their strong position, contemned 
the winter season, and declared that he was resolved to assail 
them even though they had intrenched themselves on the church- 
steeples of Breslau ! How glorious the day of Leuthen which 
followed, and which Napoleon has pronounced a master-piece in 
war! How not less glorious in the succeeding summer the day 
of Zorndorf, when Frederick looked down on the heaps of 
Russian slain, and beheld the Czarina's army destroyed rather 
than defeated by his arms ! 

Nor, again, is the honour slight of having maintained in per- 
fect discipline, and with unimpaired renown, during twenty-three 
years of peace, an army of a hundred and fifty thousand men. 
To the last, while Frederick lived, the well-earned military fame 



214 LAST YEARS OF 



of Prussia was worthily upheld. Twenty years after his death, 
on the field of Jena, it was clearly proved how much the high 
merit of that army depended on his own. When at St. Helena, 
Napoleon was asked which were the best troops that the world 
had ever seen, he answered — (not perhaps without some injustice 
both to himself and to his adversary at Waterloo) — " The Car- 
thaginians under Hannibal, the Romans under the Scipios, 
the Macedonians under Alexander, and the Prussians under 
Frederick !" * 

Yet even this discipline had its dark side. In our own times 
experience has proved that the due obedience of soldiers does not 
depend on their ill-treatment. But far different maxims prevailed 
in Frederick's age, and the good order of his troops was maintained 
by a large amount of individual suffering. In the first place, the 
non-commissioned officers plied the cane without stint or mercy 
on the common men. If we were required to draw an emblematic 
picture of a Prussian soldier of those days, we should portra} r him 
covered with scars in front from his enemy, and covered with 
scars behind from his corporal ! A veteran of Frederick's army, 
who was still alive in 1833, recently described the dreadful effect 
of those cruelties which he witnessed in Silesia — how many poor 
soldiers were flogged to desertion, how many to suicide, how 
many to madness ! j" Amongst the Prussian peasants, such was 
the horror of entering the army that it became necessary to pro- 
mulgate an edict against those who had cut off their own thumbs, 
hoping by such mutilation to disqualify themselves for the ser- 
vice ! We may observe in passing, that, according to Saumaise 
and Home Tooke, a similar practice gave rise to the French 
word poltron (quasi pollice truncatus). 

Among the officers the grievances were different, but scarcely 
less. Noble birth was in nearly all cases held indispensable for 
promotion. On any vacancy occurring in a regiment, the 
Colonel was required by the rules to recommend to his Majesty 
for appointment the most deserving subaltern, provided only that 
he was noble. In several instances, even foreign noblemen were, 
avowedly on the ground of their birth, preferred for officers' places 
to native plebeians. In like manner, none but youths of good 

* Memorial de St. Helene, par Ie Comte de Las Cases, vol. vi. p. 6. 
f Schlesische Provincial-blatter, ix. p. 241, as quoted by Preuss. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 215 

family were allowed admission into the College of Cadets. So 
late as 1784 we find Frederick directing the expulsion of three 
brothers named Stephani as being deficient in this essential qua- 
lification — " not of true and right nobility,"* says the King him- 
self. Celibacy, though recommended in most services, has never 
yet been so rigidly enforced in any other ; as an instance, it is 
mentioned that when in 1778 the Baireuth regiment of dragoons 
was reviewed by the King, it contained seventy-four officers, and 
of these not one — from the commander, General Bulow, down to 
the youngest ensign — was a married man ! In other respects 
the duties were very severe, and the least departures from them 
punished by long arrests, while the pay was extremely small, and 
leave of absence seldom granted. 

Scanty, however, as were the allowances of the Prussian army, 
they absorbed the larger share of the revenues of the state. In 
1740, just before the accession of Frederick, it is stated that 
from a total income of 7,137,000 dollars, not less than 5,977,000 
were devoted to the military department. At Frederick's de- 
cease in 1786, when the provinces had more than doubled in 
extent and population, and much more than doubled in pro- 
ductive industry, the income was twenty-two millions, and the 
expenses of the army thirteen. Yet notwithstanding this constant 
and enormous drain on his resources, such was the wise economy 
of Frederick, that he never seemed to want money whenever any 
object of public utility seemed to need assistance. We have 
already noticed his taste for building as shown in his costly 
palaces, but it would be doing him great injustice to suppose 
that it was confined to them ; not only his capital, but his prin- 
cipal cities, such as Breslau, owed him the construction of 
libraries, theatres, and other stately public edifices, besides new 
streets and squares for private houses. In one of his letters of 
1773 he is able to boast with just pride that he had that very 
year begun to rebuild some towns in Prussian Poland, which had 
lain in ruins ever since the pestilence of l709.f In the same 
year he made arrangements for founding sixty new villages 
among the waste lands of Upper Silesia, and for rebuilding two 
towns in the same district, which had been destroyed by con- 

* Von wahrem und rechten Adel. f To Voltaire, Oct. 24, 1773. 



216 LAST YEARS OF 



flagration : " they were of wood," says he, " but they shall now 
be of brick or of stone from the neighbouring quarries which we 
have opened." In 1775 we find him establish and endow at 
once an hundred and eighty schools in his new Polish province 
— some of the Protestant, and others of the Roman Catholic 
communion.* Were there any veins of metal discovered in the 
mountains — did any district suffer either from drought or inun- 
dation in the plains — did any new manufacture call for bounties 
— was there any attempt to produce at home instead of import- 
ing from abroad — in all these, and many other such cases, and 
without distinction of province or of creed, the succouring hand 
of Frederick was extended. His subjects found that he would 
not give alms to compassion, but only aids to restoration or im- 
provement; he would help them whenever they would bestir 
themselves. On his yearly journeys through his states he was 
always on the watch for old abuses to correct, or new works of 
public benefit to commence. His questions were ever : Why 
not drain yonder marshes ? why should that range of hills 
remain bare ? might not this sheltered hollow bear fruit-trees ? 
should not a new bridge span that river, or a new road pierce 
that forest? Nor were these mere vague recommendations: 
they became the first germ of speedy plans and estimates, and 
when the King passed by in the ensuing year, or summoned his 
provincial officers to Potsdam, he insisted on ascertaining what 
real progress had been made. Activity of any kind is rare, when 
great wealth and means of indolence exist ; but how much rarer 
still to find it thus well-directed and steady in its aim ! We had 
once the high honour of being for a short time in the company 
of a prince, whose mind struck us as a curious contrast to Frede- 
rick's ; he asked nearly the same questions, but seldom paused 
to hear the answer, or cried, " Right — quite right — exactly so " 
— whatever the answer might be ! 

To show more clearly how close and minute was Frederick's 
superintendence of his provincial affairs, we will give an account 
of one of his " Ministers' Reviews," as they were termed— that is, 
a conference which he held every summer with the principal 
holders of office. Of the one which took place at Sans Souci on 

* Letter to D'Alembert, June 19, 1775. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 217 

the 1st of June, 1770, a summary was drawn up by the Minister 
of State, Von Derschau, for the information of an absent col- 
league : — 

" His Majesty received us with a most gracious countenance, and 
said, ' Gentlemen, I have caused you to come that we might examine 
our household affairs together.' We replied that we had duly prepared 
ourselves for this investigation : upon which he proceeded to say that he 
had himself inspected in the Oder-bruch the district which had suffered 
this year by the inundations of the Oder, and had found the damage by 
no means so great as it had been represented to him. ' One ought not,' 
he added, 1 to be too much dismayed by such calamities of Nature, how- 
ever frightful they seem at first ; since Nature is apt herself to repair, 
and at no long interval, the havoc she has made.' At Freienwalde 
there were only two small breaches in the dam, and only about twenty- 
five houses slightly damaged, so that the whole real loss of the inha- 
bitants would be scarcely more than a few cartloads of hay and the 
growing crops on the ground. His Majesty then proceeded : ' I do not 
therefore see the necessity of such large sums as you have proposed to 
me to grant in remission of taxes and compensations for losses. How- 
ever, I will allow 60,000 dollars. When the water shall have flowed off 
again, the Minister of State Von Hagen shall go to the spot and examine 
everything more exactly. But I cannot conceal from you how much I 
was dissatisfied at finding the new church in the Oder-bruch not yet 
completed. I desire that you w r ill again send a sharp order to Lieut.- 
Colonel Petri to take measures for having the church ready soon, or it 
shall be the worse for him !' 

" Upon this his Majesty took up the account of the sums proposed to 
be allotted, and said, 1. That as to the funds for repairing the Oder- 
dam, they were already assigned. 2. That in addition he would gladly 
grant the 13,000 dollars proposed for the new sluice at Plauen. 3. That 
he would undertake the cost of the stables for the Cuirassiers' horses at 
Kyritz, and of the hospital and orphan-asylum at Belgard, since these 
expenses were both needful and useful. 4. That he would refer to the 
Board of General Direction the charges required for the harbours of 
Rugenwald and Colberg. 

•' When this was over, the King looked through with a keen eye the 
accounts of the Chambre des Domaines and of the Caisse Militaire, and 
signed them respectively. He then opened his desk, drew out a paper, 
and read to us a statement of the considerable sums which he intends 
this year, as far as he finds it possible, to devote to the benefit of his 
dominions. Among these sums we especially noticed 300,000 dollars 
for the nobility of Pomerania, 20,000 for the province of Hohnstein, 



218 LAST YEARS OP 



and 30,000 on account to restore the towns in the March of Branden- 
burg. On the first item the King observed — ' Gentlemen, I recom- 
mend to you especially the upholding and supporting my nobility. I 
lay great stress upon that order, for I require it both for my army 
and my civil administration. You know how many valuable men I 
have already drawn from it, and what I have been able to do by its 
means.' 

" Before dinner the King spoke to us on sundry other matters, and 
said, amongst the rest, that it gave him pleasure whenever any of his 
subjects travelled into foreign states with views of improvement, and 
brought back useful knowledge to their native country. He added, that 
during his last journey through Pomerania he had seen at Colbatz the 
Ober-Amtman Sydow, who, together with his son, had been lately in 
England, and had studied the English system of husbandry. They 
understand how to grow lucerne, and what are termed turnips (a white 
root for fodder, of which nine or ten often reach an hundredweight) ; 
and experiments in the culture of both have been made in Pomerania 
with excellent success. His Majesty wishes that the same may be done 
in Brandenburg. We are, therefore, to put ourselves in correspondence 
with these gentlemen, and receive from them the necessary instructions ; 
and we are, also, to send some sensible Wirthschafts-Schieiber from 
various Amter in Brandenburg to Colbatz, to observe and afterwards 
adopt at home the cultivation not only of these turnips and lucerne, but 
also of the hops, which last his Majesty has recommended to us in the 
most pressing terms. The King observes that the country-people in 
Brandenburg are still too stubborn and prejudiced against any new 
discovery, however good and useful it may be. Therefore, says his 
Majesty, the men in office should always make a beginning with what- 
ever promises well ; and if it answers, then the lower classes will be 
sure to follow. ■ You would not think,' added his Majesty with much 
animation, { how eager I feel to make the people advance in knowledge 
and welfare ; but you must have often experienced, as I have, how much 
contradiction and thwarting one meets with, even where one has the 
best intentions.' " 

Our limits warn us to carry no further the report of this re- 
markable interview. We will therefore omit, though reluctantly, 
the King's remarks and directions as to the better manuring of 
pasture-lands — the reclaiming of several sanely spots near Lowen- 
berg, Strausberg, Alt-Landsberg, and Werneuchen which he had 
noticed on his last journey — the draining of the great marshes 
at Stenclal, and with the profits bringing over to the spot a colony 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 219 

of Dutchmen — the encouragement of bee-hives and silk- worms, 
for which last large plantations of mulberry-trees had been made 
several years before — the establishment of extensive nursery- 
gardens near Berlin, to be manured from the sweepings of the 
streets and drains in that city- — the planting of fruit-trees in other 
places likewise, so as to check the importation of dried fruit 
every year from Saxony, and " to keep," the King added, "our 
money at home" — the working of the cobalt and coal-mines in 
Silesia, and how the coals should be transported, and how applied 
In bleaching-grounds, tile-kilns, and lime-kilns. After so many 
and such manifold orders this " Ministers' Review" ended, we 
may observe, in a manner more agreeable than most Cabinet- 
Councils in England — by a general invitation to the Royal table 
that same day. " During the repast," adds our reporter, " his 
Majesty was especially condescending and gay, made a great 
number of jests, and then bade us go — highly delighted at his 
gracious reception." 

In thus considering the administration of Frederick we must 
always bear in mind that his authority over his people was en- 
tirely and in all respects uncontrolled. Not only the treaties 
with foreign powers and the systems of foreign policy, the army, 
the ordnance, the shipping, the questions of trade and protecting 
• duties, the imposition or remission of new taxes, and the applica- 
tion of the revenue received, were subject to his despotic sway, 
but even the decisions of the courts of law, which most other 
tyrannies hold sacred. Nay more, even beyond the frontiers of 
the state, personal freedom was so far controlled that no Prussian 
subject could travel without special permission from the King, 
and even when that permission was granted there was a Royal 
Ordinance of October 29, 1766, fixing the amount of pocket- 
money which he might take with him : if a nobleman or an 
officer, 400 dollars ; if neither, 250. The government was, in 
fact, one of those which, when well administered, as was Fre- 
derick's, are called by friends Patriarchal or Paternal, which 
leave little to individual choice or enterprise, but direct every 
man to the path in which he should go. 

It is remarkable that Frederick, who not only possessed but 
actively wielded this uncontrolled authority, and who never to his 
dying day manifested the slightest idea of relaxing it, yet in many 



220 LAST YEARS OF 



of his writings expresses the most ardent aspirations for freedom, 
Thus in his epistle to the Marquis d'Argens : — 

" Vous de la liberie heros que je revere, 
O Manes de Caton, o Manes de Brutus !" 

Or when he thus upbraids Hermotheme : — 

" Votre esprit est imbu des prejuges vulgaires, 
Vos parchemins uses ne sont que des chimeres." 

We remember that in * Emile ' Rousseau points an eloquent in- 
vective against those mock-philanthropists who profess unbounded 
zeal for the Tartars, but who will never help a poor neighbour 
at the door. In like manner we confess that we feel small 
reverence for those Kings who never part with one iota of their 
inherited despotism, who give a subject the hem of their garment 
to kiss, who bound their promotions to nobles, and who leave 
their peasantry serfs, and yet with all this love to prate of re- 
publicans and regicides — provided only that these lived very far 
away, and many hundred years ago ! 

It is certainly true that Frederick, upon the whole, adminis- 
tered his despotic power with enlightened views and with public 
spirit for the good of his subjects, and it may perhaps be argued, 
as Montesquieu has done, that despotic power while thus adminis- 
tered is the best of all forms of government. Take any Prussian 
town or district during the peaceful years of Frederick, and it 
will, we believe, appear that amidst very many cases of individual 
grievance and hardship the general progress of prosperity was 
rapid and unceasing. No instance can be stronger than that of 
Silesia. Here was a province won without a shadow of real right 
from Maria Theresa — a sovereign who, besides her legitimate 
title, had all the claims to her subjects' sympathy which woman- 
hood, youth, and beauty can bestow. Here were nobles of high 
lineage and loyalty compelled to acknowledge an usurping con- 
queror ; here was a people of bigoted Catholicism ruled over for 
the first time by a Protestant prince. Under such circumstances 
what else could be expected than that Silesia should become to 
Prussia what Ireland has been to England — a perennial fountain 
of bitterness — an object to all statesmen of anxious solicitude, 
and to nearly all of afflicting disappointment — a battle-field of 
ever recurring political and religious animosities, and, like other 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 221 

battle-fields, laid waste by the contention ! Yet so prompt and 
so prudent were the measures of Frederick in behalf of his new 
conquest — neither neglecting the interests of his subjects, as, for 
instance, Joseph I., nor yet wounding their prejudices, like 
Joseph II. — that within a few years' space Silesia became as 
firmly bound to him as Brandenburg, and that Maria Theresa, 
in her later attempts to recover the province, found no effective 
or general assistance from the Silesians themselves. 

We must confess, however, that this praise of the general result 
of Frederick's government is not easily borne out on examining 
the particular steps of the process. Wide as are the differences 
amongst ourselves on questions of trade and taxation, we do not 
suppose that one man could now be found to vindicate the former 
system in Prussia. Severe Government monopolies laid on main 
articles of consumption, and farmed out to speculators from a 
foreign country, form perhaps the very worst system of finance 
which human ingenuity has yet devised. And such was Fre- 
derick's — as a short review of the items will show. 

On meat there was established an excise-duty of one pfennig 
per pound ; and moreover varying but always considerable Droits 
a" Octroi at the gates of towns on cattle and sheep. Thus at 
Berlin there was demanded for each ox one thaler thirteen gros- 
chen of entrance-excise, and ten groschen more of market-excise ; 
besides which there was another duty on the hide and another 
on the tallow. Bread was not excised ; but the Octroi on wheat 
and on flour amounted to four and six pfennigs the bushel 
respectively : the effect being, of course, to make bread dearer 
in the towns than in the villages or open country. On brandy 
there was an excise of one groschen the quart ; on beer of 
eighteen groschen the barrel. Coffee, tobacco, and salt were not 
merely excised, but administered by and for the state as mono- 
polies. For the most part the coffee was only sold ready roasted 
for use— the right of roasting it being reserved as a special favour 
for certain privileged classes, as the nobles, the officers of the 
army, and the clergy in towns. The duty retained by the 
Government was at first four grosche?i the pound ; but, in 1772, 
was increased to six groschen and two pfennigs. It was calcu- 
lated, that, deducting the duty, a pound of coffee could not 
possibly be sold by the fair trader at less than four groschen and 



222 LAST YEARS OF 



three-quarters ; yet the price of the pound of coffee at Berlin in 
the retail trade never exceeded ten groschen ; a clear proof of 
the prevalence and success of smuggling-. Redoubled vigilance 
and severity on the part of the French revenue-officers in this 
department — the " coffee-smellers " (Kqffee-JRiecher), as the 
mob called them — were wholly unavailing, except to increase 
the animosity against themselves. Thus, in 1784, the King 
found it necessary to reduce the amount of the duty by one half, 
and it is remarkable that the revenue derived from it almost 
immediately doubled. In the preceding year this revenue had 
been only 300,000 dollars ; in the subsequent year it rose to 
574,000.* It must, however, be observed that the King's object 
in the higher rate was perhaps not so much financial as prohibi- 
tory. When the Land-Stande of Pomerania ventured to re- 
monstrate against the increased duties on coffee and wines, his 
Majesty's views were explained in his own Royal Rescript of 
August 27, 1779:— 

u The great point," says that Rescript (which is written in the style 
of familiar conversation), "is to put some limits to the dreadful amount 
of consumption. It is quite horrible how far the consumption of coffee 
goes — to say nothing of other articles ! The reason is, that every pea- 
sant and common fellow is accustoming himself to the use of coffee, as 
being now so easily procured in the open country. If this be a little 
bit checked, the people must take again to beer, and that is surely for 
the good of their own breweries, as more beer would then be sold. 
Here then is the object — that so much money may not go to foreign 
parts for coffee ; and if but 60,000 dollars went yearly, that is quite 
enough. As to the right of search which the Land-Stande object to, 
it is needful to keep order, especially among their own domestics ; and, 
as good subjects to the King, they should not even say a word against 
it. Besides, his Majesty's own Royal person was reared in childhood 
upon beer-soups (ale-berry), and why not then just as well the people 
down yonder ? It is much wholesomer than coffee. The Land-Stande 
may therefore set their minds at rest on the matter, especially since all 
noblemen residing on their own estates shall continue to have free of 
duty as much coffee and wine as they require for their own and their 
families' consumption ; only care must be taken that this their privilege 
be guarded from abuse, and that no contraband traffic be carried on 
under their names. That cannot possibly be winked at for the future." 



De Launay, Justification du Systeme, p. 30. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 223 

Bad as was this system of impost, with the like monopoly of 
tobacco and salt, Frederick may be reproached for introducing 
another still worse. In 1763 there were first established in 
Prussia Government lotteries. At first the annual profits from 
this source were small, only 60,000 dollars, but they gradually 
increased, both during Frederick's reign and after it. The net 
proceeds in 1829 are stated at 684,000 dollars. 

No mode of administration, as we conceive, could have made 
the main Government monopolies welcome to the people. But 
certainly they were much aggravated in practice by the system 
which the King selected. Three years after the peace of Huberts- 
burg, Frederick summoned over from Paris several French 
farmers-general, the chief of whom was La Haye de Launay, and 
by them exclusively he administered his principal monopolies, as 
tobacco and coffee. This system, under the name of La Regie, 
was steadily maintained for twenty years, that is, during the 
remainder of Frederick's reign, but was immediately afterwards 
cancelled by his successor. 

Nor was the French importation limited to the principal con- 
tractors ; they drew over in their train several hundred of their 
countrymen, who were forthwith distributed over the Prussian 
states as men in office, with various grades and denominations : 
Directeurs, Inspecteurs, Verificateurs, Controleurs, Visitateurs, 
Commis plombeurs, Controleurs ambulants, Jaugeurs, Commis 
rats de cave, and above all, Anti-contrebandiers apiedet a clieval ! 
To these were adjoined also a great number of Germans, but 
always in a subaltern situation to the French. The whole 
establishment was far too numerous and costly, Frederick him- 
self being the judge: for when, in 1783, he came to revise its 
details, he found himself able to suppress no less than 834 em- 
ployes^ and to effect a saving of 150,000 dollars yearly. Nor 
was the general financial result satisfactory. It has been ably 
shown by Dr. Preuss that the average annual receipts since the 
French financiers came in exceeded the former ones by only 
857,000 dollars ; a result not at all commensurate to the addi- 
tional taxes imposed, nor to the growing population and prosperity 
of the Prussian states. 

Undoubtedly, however, the main fault of the system was the 
deep humiliation of the Prussians at finding themselves thus 



224 LAST YEARS OF 



excluded from the administration of their own finances, and 
declared incapable of filling the best employments in their native 
country. It may likewise be imagined that ignorant or careless 
as were many of the French excisemen of any foreign language, 
the collisions between them and the native population were both 
frequent and angry. We are far from disputing the financial 
merits of our nearest neighbours whenever employed at home ; 
but we really doubt whether even the Egyptian locusts, whose 
appearance so greatly irritated Frederick, could have proved a 
worse plague to his subjects than these French excisemen. It 
will be observed that they (although the excise itself was of 
long standing) were not appointed until some years after the 
Seven Years' War. Had they been at work previously, we are 
strongly of opinion that the King would have felt their ill effect 
from the anger and alienation of at least his Silesian subjects. 

Passing to another branch we may observe, that in many parts 
of the Prussian monarchy the peasants continued to be feudal 
serfs— ascripti glebce. Such Frederick found them at his acces- 
sion — such he left them at his death. It is due to him, however, 
to observe that he issued several edicts to secure them as far as 
possible from any wanton ill-usage of their masters. With 
regard to these, the proprietors of the soil, there was a wide dis- 
tinction maintained between those who were and those who were 
not of noble birth. None of the former class were allowed to 
alienate their lands to the latter without a special Royal licence ; 
and this licence, for which we find many applications in Frede- 
rick's correspondence, was almost invariably refused ; the object 
being 1 , that if even some noblemen should be ruined, the estates 
of the nobles as a class should undergo no diminution. 

This system, however irreconcilable with the French philo- 
sophy of Frederick, was no doubt in accordance with the temper 
and feelings at that time of his principal subjects. But it is 
difficult to understand what prejudice was gratified, or what 
advantage beyond facility of taxation it was expected to secure, 
by another system not less rigidly adhered to — the confinement 
of all manufacturing industry within town walls. By an Edict 
of June 4, 1718, which was not repealed till 1810, no kind of 
handicraftsmen were allowed to ply in the villages or open 
country, except these six : smiths, wheelwrights, carpenters, 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 225 

masons, weavers, and tailors. There were certain exemptions 
for breweries and distilleries, especially in the provinces between 
the Oder and the Vistula, but the general rule stood as we have 
just described it. Thus the many new manufactories and branches 
of industry which Frederick loved to found or foster had to 
struggle against both the confined space and the larger expenses 
of the towns. 

All such new manufactories, however, during Frederick's 
reign, were not only guarded by protective duties against their 
foreign rivals, but propped and encouraged by bounties. Large 
sums were often and readily devoted to this end. Some points, 
however, in Frederick's commercial policy, as in his financial, 
would be in the present day universally condemned. Thus, 
wishing to secure to the woollen manufactures of Prussia a cheap 
and constant supply of their raw material, he absolutely pro- 
hibited the export of wool from his dominions ; nay, more, by an 
Edict of April 3, 1774, he decreed that the export of wool or 
fleece should thenceforward be a capital offence ! 

The corn-laws of Frederick were also, to say the least of them, 
rather stringent. There was a general order issued at the very 
outset of his reign, that whenever in any district or at any season 
the land-owners were unwilling to dispose of their stocks of grain, 
it might be seized by the Government officers and forcibly sold 
by auction. He also insisted that in common years his granaries 
and garrisons should be supplied at a low fixed price as named 
by himself. On the other hand, however, these granaries were 
always opened in a year of scarcity, and their contents being 
sold at moderate prices tended in no small degree to counteract 
the prevailing dearth. 

" For universities and schools," says Dr. Preuss, " Frederick 
did much less than might have been expected from so warm a 
friend of civilisation and knowledge." On one occasion indeed, 
as we have elsewhere mentioned, he founded nearly 200 schools 
for his new province of West Prussia ; but in general he sup- 
plied for the schools in his dominions only his advice, and not 
his money, of which they stood in urgent need. The office of 
village schoolmasters was so wretchedly paid that of course it was 
wretchedly filled; most of them, as the King informs us, being 
tailors ! Still far worse, however, grew the state of things when 

Q 



226 LAST YEARS OF 



Frederick, in 1779, hit upon this expedient for providing, with- 
out expense to himself, for his invalided soldiers. The veterans 
thus turned into pedagogues were found for the most part wholly 
unequal to the task, as many of them frankly owned ; nay, we are 
even assured that in the better-conducted schools the new master 
appeared to know much less than his pupils. Wretched, how- 
ever, as must have been such attempts at teaching, the subjects of 
Frederick had no choice or option in resorting to them. It was 
enjoined on every Prussian of the lower class to send his sons to 
these, and no other, schools. In like manner Frederick attempted 
to prop up his defective Universities by his favourite expedient — 
monopoly. He had issued a Decree that any Prussian subject 
educated abroad or passing less than two years at a Prussian 
University, should be held disqualified for any civil or eccle- 
siastical appointment in his service. 

But though in the Prussian states one form of education was 
thus made imperative, every form of religion was left perfectly 
free. Viewing, as did Frederick, all sects of Christianity with 
most impartial contempt, it cost him of course no effort to treat 
them all alike. Every zealot in exile or under persecution — 
from the Jesuit down to the materialist, like La Metrie, to whom 
indeed he granted a pension — found in his states a cordial wel- 
come and a quiet refuge. With equal readiness did he apply 
himself to provide churches for the Lutherans at Breslau, and a 
Cathedral for the Roman Catholics at Berlin. It may, however, 
be observed that he made no attempt to conciliate the goodwill of 
the latter by increasing their endowments or remitting their tax- 
ation. From all the convents and religious houses of Silesia he 
claimed the payment of 50 per cent, from their net incomes, and 
on the partition of Poland we find him establish the same scale in 
his new province of West Prussia. 

We may likewise remark that, in corresponding with clergy- 
men, of whatever persuasion, Frederick was not led by any views 
of policy to refrain from his customary scoffs and sneers. He 
loved especially to taunt them with texts of Scripture misapplied. 
Once, he was building arcades around the windows of the town- 
church at Potsdam, and received a remonstrance from its clergy, 
entreating his Majesty to suspend the work, for that otherwise 
they would not be able to see. The King answered, " Blessed 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 227 

are they which have not seen and yet have believed !" On 
another occasion the Pastor Pels of Bernau, finding that he 
could not subsist on his yearly stipend of less than 40/. English, 
applied for some augmentation — a request which, in England at 
least, would not be thought unreasonable ; but he received the 
following as the Royal reply : — " The Apostles did not thirst 
after lucre. They have preached in vain, for Herr Pels has no 
Apostolic soul !" — It is surprising that such mockeries do not 
seem at that time to have stirred up any of the religious resent- 
ment and indignation, which would undoubtedly be found to 
result from them at present. 

The tolerant maxims of Frederick scarcely extended to the 
Jews. He appears to have felt a prepossession against that race ; 
founded, perhaps, on their real or supposed unaptness for war. 
Alone among his subjects they were liable to an ignominious 
poll-tax, like so many heads of cattle — a tax not abolished until 
1787, the year after Frederick's death. Many branches of trade 
were prohibited to them, as breweries and distilleries, or the sale 
of any article of food, except amongst themselves. Several 
towns, as Puppin, were confirmed in the privilege, as they 
deemed it, that no Jew should ever sleep within their walls. In 
all other towns, the number of Jewish families, as once settled, 
was on no account to be exceeded — (a rule, however, relaxed in 
practice) ; and these families were held liable collectively for 
the imposts due by any one of them. And such were the 
shackles in Prussia even on the more privileged, or, as called bv 
courtesy, the " protected Jews" (Sckutz-Juden) ; and, heavy as 
they seem, yet lighter than those borne by that people in many 
other parts of Germany ! Even down to 1833, as we learn from 
Dr. Preuss, and as we believe even to the present year, no Jew, 
though of the highest character, was considered in the Prussian 
courts of law as what they term testis omni exceptione major ; 
nor can his testimony ever be held fully equivalent to a Chris- 
tian's !* Surely the resisting any further political concessions to 
that race is by no means incompatible with the denouncing such 
civil restraints upon them as most oppressive and unjust, 

* We find, however, from the Allgemeine Preussische Zeitung of August 7, 
1847, that a Projet de Loi, to remedy most of the remaining grievances of 
the Jews, has been recently submitted by the Government to the States, and 
in part adopted. 

q2 



228 LAST YEARS OF 



Nor can it be said that these restraints and hardships in the 
Prussian states under Frederick's reign were lightened by any 
peculiar gentleness of manner in his Majesty. Thus in Novem- 
ber, 1764, we find him issue an angry order against the presump- 
tion of certain Jews who had taken cows on hire. And when 
Benjamin Meyer, of Magdeburg, in 1765, applied for equal rights 
with the Christian tradesmen of that town, the Royal reply was 
as follows : — " Let the Jew immediately take himself away from 
Magdeburg, or the Commandant shall kick him out !" 

In Prussia, as in other German states at that period, the press 
was far from free ; there was both a censorship before publica- 
tion, and after it at any time a power of seizure. Frederick was 
not a man to bear any attacks upon his policy, if by such attacks 
that policy could be thwarted or endangered ; but when his own 
person and character only were concerned, he displayed the most 
magnanimous forbearance. During his whole reign libels against 
him might be circulated, and libellers go free. Thus, in 1761, 
a little pasquinade, whose venom may be discovered even in its 
title, La Lais Philosophe, was sold without obstruction in the 
Prussian capital. Frederick himself with a lofty spirit declared, 
"It is for me to do my duty, and to let the wicked talk on." 
In the same tone he writes to Voltaire, on March 2, 1775 : — 

" Of such satires I think as Epictetus did : ' If evil be said of thee, 
and if it be true, correct thyself ; if it be a lie, laugh at it !' By dint of 
time and experience I have learned to be a good post-horse ; I go 
through my appointed daily stage, and 1 care not for the curs who bark 
at me along the road." 

In 1784 a severer trial awaited the King's magnanimity from 
Voltaire hmself, when there came forth the witty and scandalous 
Vie Privee — that Parthian arrow which Voltaire had drawn on 
his flight from Berlin in 1753, but had concealed until his own 
death. Yet of this Vie Privee, teeming as it does with every topic 
of invective and ridicule upon the King, a whole edition was lei- 
surely disposed of by Pitra, the King's own bookseller, at Berlin ! 

Caricatures upon Frederick were treated by him with the same 
lofty unconcern. One day, as he was riding along the Jager- 
Strasse at Berlin, he observed a crowd pressing forward and 
staring at a paper stuck high upon the wall. As he drew near, 
he perceived that it was a satirical representation of himself, as 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 229 

engaged in the coffee-monopoly, with one of his hands turning a 
coffee-mill, and with the other greedily picking up a single bean 
which had fallen to the ground. Frederick turned coolly round 
to the Heyduke who attended him, and said, " Take down that 
paper and hang it lower, so that the people may not strain their 
necks in looking at it." And this the Heyduke was proceeding 
to do, when the people, struck at their King's magnanimity, 
broke into loud huzzas, and tore the injurious portrait into a 
thousand pieces. 

It was once observed by Dr. Johnson, with his usual admirable 
sense, that " no man was ever written down, except by himself;" 
and certainly it was not from the publications of others, but from 
his own, that King Frederick suffered both in fame and fortunes. 
To this day his leaden volumes of poetry, of that kind of medi- 
ocrity, not, as Horace says, to be borne by Gods or men, form a 
counterpoise to his military glories and administrative skill. 
And during his lifetime it was truly surprising to find a prince so 
provident and wary on any other affair, beyond all measure rash 
and reckless in his satirical attacks on Madame de Pompadour at 
the height of her favour, and on the Empress Elizabeth of Russia. 
There is no doubt that the biting verses, imprudently written, and 
still more imprudently promulgated, on the private life of both 
these ladies, were among the main causes of the greatest danger 
which he ever ran — of that all but irresistible confederacy formed 
against him in the Seven Years' War. 

At other times, however, Frederick, versed as he was in the 
secrets of the press, made use of them for his own objects in a 
manner seldom tried by princes. Thus, in 1767, the King found 
the public at Berlin inclined to tattle on the chance of another 
war. To turn their attention he immediately composed and sent 
to the newspapers a full account of a wonderful hail- storm stated, 
though without the smallest foundation in fact, to have taken 
place at Potsdam on the 27th of February in that year. Not 
only did this imaginary narrative engross for some time, as he 
desired, the public conversation, but it gave rise to some grave 
philosophical treatises on the supposed phenomenon ! 

Over the administration of Justice, Frederick, as we have 
already said, held despotic sway. Whenever he found fault with 
the decision of a Court of Law, he thought himself entitled not 



23tf LAST YEARS OF 



only to reverse the sentence, but to punish the judges. But it is 
due to him to add that he never exercised this authority on any 
grounds of powerful influence or personal regard. His state- 
papers and correspondence teem with applications from persons 
of the first rank in the Prussian monarchy, entreating him to 
suspend some decree of the courts which they found inconvenient ; 
but the King invariably refuses, " since," as he often adds, " the 
laws must govern all alike." It was his maxim, that before a 
judicial court a prince and a peasant should be entirely equal ; 
and this was not, like some of his others, a mere holiday maxim, 
to be paraded in a French poem or a French pamphlet, and 
never thought of afterwards ; but again and again did he press it 
on his Chancellor and judges, both urging it in words, and 
enforcing it in action. 

In explanation of this last point it is to be observed, that 
although Frederick would never consent to reverse a judgment 
from motives of friendship or favour, he was prompt to do so 
whenever he thought that the poor had been injured or despoiled 
by the rich. Nor was it merely such a case of oppression, real 
or supposed, which roused him : his keen eye discerned how 
frequently a delay is equivalent to a denial of justice. Some- 
times, therefore, he would interfere to simplify and shorten the 
wearisome forms of jurisprudence, and cut through, as it were, 
with his sword those Gordian knots which lawyers love to weave. 
Of the technicalities in other countries he spoke with caustic 
disdain. Thus he writes to Voltaire, January 27, 1775, on the 
case of a French officer preparing to enter his service and per- 
plexed by a law-suit at home : — 

" As the practice goes, his law-suit may drag its slow length along 
for another year at least. People write me word that highly important 
forms require these delays, and that it is only by dint of patience that 
one can reach the point of losing a law-suit before the Parliament of 
Paris. I hear these fine things with amazement, and without at all com- 
prehending them." 

It must be owned, however, that Frederick did not join to his 
horror of injustice sufficient thought and care, and that he some- 
times caused the very evil which he dreaded. The story of the 
miller Arnold has been often told. The King, believing that 
here a poor man had been wronged through the undue influence 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 231 

of a nobleman his neighbour, took up the affair most warmly, 
discarded his Chancellor, sent three of his Judges to Spandau, 
and forcibly reinstated Arnold in possession of the mill. It was 
afterwards proved by incontrovertible documents, and is now uni- 
versally acknowledged, that the miller was a knave; that the 
Chancellor had taken no part in the business ; and, above all, 
that the Judges had decided according to right, and were there- 
fore punished without reason. Nay more, we are assured that 
the King himself admitted his error to one of his familiar attend- 
ants, but added, that the mistake being already made, could not, 
without loss of dignity, be recalled. Such painful cases imply 
(for really the arguments here lie upon the surface) great want 
of care and attention in the Royal arbitrator. They also prove 
that no prince should ever in any country be invested with a 
despotic power above the laws. But while we deprecate despotic 
power, and while we demand vigilant care, we must, even in the 
teeth of such cases, express our sympathy in any endeavours to 
clear from rubbish and to open wider the portals of the Temple 
of Justice. In our own Court of Chancery we may perceive 
how, by never swerving from established forms, a most faulty 
system may consist with the most upright intentions, and with 
the most learned men. Our Lord Chancellors for the last 
century and upwards have been above all suspicion and reproach. 
We had lately Lord Lyndhurst, eminent as a judge, orator, and 
statesman." We have now Lord Cottenham, eminent as a judge. 
Every legal decision of either would command implicit and 
deserved respect. Yet in the courts over which they presided 
or preside, how often are old technicalities more powerful than 
they ; how often are large fortunes lavished to secure the clearest 
right ; how often is the clearest right relinquished or forborne 
rather than be asserted at such cost and time ! Surely, even a 
" killing Decree," as poor Aubrey called it in Lord Bacon's 
time, would weigh more lightly on the suitors than the prospect 
of no decree at all — the prospect that by the time the suit has 
grown to years, and the solicitor's bill to thousands, they should 
still be met by some fresh Demurrer or some renewed Reference 
to the Master I 

We ask pardon of our readers for this digression, and are 
warned by it to forbear from entering upon other topics — as of 



232 LAST YEARS OF 



Frederick's foreign policy — which might lead us too far. The 
partition of Poland especially is so momentous an episode that it 
cannot be disposed of in a single paragraph. Yet, perhaps, not 
merely that transaction, but the whole foreign policy of Frederick 
was once aptly described by some Polish borderers in a single 
word. When they saw displayed on the flagstaff of the newly 
gained frontier the Prussian Eagle, with the motto stjum cuiqtje, 
they slily wrote beneath rapuit ! These questions, however, 
we shall for the present pass by, and proceed to relate the cir- 
cumstances of Frederick's last illness and death. 

During many years he had sustained periodical fits of gout, 
and also frequent stomach disorders, the result of his errors or 
excesses at table. Still, however, by early hours and regular 
exercise, his constitution had since his early youth gained much 
in vital strength, and enabled him to recover promptly and com- 
pletely from such attacks. When sick, he invariably became 
far more gentle and forbearing to all around him ; and thus also, 
as we are told by his chief valet-de-chambre, Schoning, the surest 
sign of his convalescence was his ill treatment of those with 
whom he had seemed well satisfied during his sickness. In 
August, 1785, when the King was directing the annual review 
in Silesia, in the presence of many foreign generals and princes, 
the weather became cold and stormy, and he was earnestly en- 
treated to forbear from appearing on the ground. But Frederick 
was determined never until the last necessity to relax from a 
single one of his kingly duties ; accordingly he sat on horseback 
to see the troops defile during six hours of heavy rain, and on 
his return home was seized with fever and ague. These for the 
time he shook off; but, through the whole of the ensuing winter, 
his health grew subject to daily variation ; many slight attacks 
soon recovered from, but ever again recurring. 

It is probable, however, that his life might have been pro- 
longed during several years, had he been only willing to use 
some degree of prudence and restraint in his diet ; but on this 
most tender subject he would hearken to no counsel. Thus, for 
instance, while at Breslau after his short campaign of 1778, he 
was suffering severely from colic and indigestion ; and his phy- 
sician, Dr. Mohsen, ventured to intimate, with the utmost 
deference and humility, that it might be better for his Majesty 



FEEDERICK THE SECOND. 233 

to abstain from Parmesan cheese in his favourite polentas until 
after his Majesty's stomach had by proper remedies recovered its 
tone. " Alle Teufel ! " cried the King, with a loud and angry 
voice, " are you reprimanding me ? Get you gone, I have no 
further occasion for you !" Poor Dr. Mohsen hastened back to 
Berlin with all precipitation, and greatly discomfited. Nearly 
in the same way it fared with his successor, Dr. Selle, at the 
commencement of the King's last illness. In other respects 
likewise he was a far from tractable patient. As in state affairs 
he would take nothing on trust, but required to have everything 
made clear to his own perception ; and he expected from any 
medicine some decisive and speedy effects — otherwise, the me- 
dicine itself was soon discarded. 

Under these circumstances the King grew worse and worse in 
the first months of 1786. He was often sleepless at nights, but, 
on the other hand, would fall into short and uneasy slumbers by 
day. His strength was so far reduced that he could only ride 
occasionally, and when lifted on his horse. A short dry cough 
set in, and his breathing became so difficult that he could not lie 
down in bed, but only sit through the twenty-four hours bending 
forwards on the same arm-chair. Symptoms of dropsy also 
began to show themselves both in his body and his limbs. 

With all this, however, the King's activity and zeal in trans- 
acting business never for one moment abated. He continued to 
read every despatch and memorial, to dictate and sign his answers, 
and to carry on all the current business for the public good with 
the same punctuality and clearness as ever. Such was the inten- 
tion which he had long ago expressed in his ' Epitre au Marechal 
Keith :'— 

" Oui, finissons sans trouble, et mourons sans regrets, 
En laissant l'univers comble de nos bienfaits ; 
Ainsi l'astre du jour au bout de sa carriere 
Repand sur l'horizon une douce lumiere, 
Et ses derniers rayons qu'il darde dans les airs, 
Sont ses derniers soupirs qu'il donne a l'univers." 

This is the only piece of poetry by Frederick with which we 
intend to trouble our readers, and we think that they will be in- 
clined to forgive its poverty of versification and confusion of me- 
taphor (sunbeams turned into sighs !) for the sake of its noble 



234 LAST YEARS OF 



and lofty sentiment — a sentiment, be it observed, not merely put 
forth in high health thirty years before, but courageously fulfilled 
and carried through when there came the hour of trial. 

Nor yet, amidst all his suffering, did his gaiety and love of 
jest forsake him. When the Duke of Courland came to see him 
at this period, the King asked him whether he stood in need of a 
good watchman, u for if so," added his Majesty, " allow me to 
offer myself, being well qualified for such a post by my sleepless- 
ness at nights." 

Finding little benefit from medicine, and unwilling to try ab- 
stinence, Frederick placed his own hopes on the return of fine 
weather, and as the spring advanced often caused himself to be 
set in a chair on the sunny side of the palace to inhale the balmy 
air. But no real improvement having ensued, the King, in the 
course of June, wrote to summon from Hanover the celebrated 
Swiss physician, Dr. Zimmermann. Accordingly Zimmermann 
came, and on a careful consideration of the symptoms, prescribed 
as a stomachic the daily use of the Extract of Taraxicum — the 
common meadow Dandelion. But he heard with dismay, from 
the valet-de-chambre Schoning, how great continued to be the 
King's errors of diet. " The most indigestible dishes," said 
Schoning, " are the favourites with his Majesty ; and whenever 
he is prevailed upon by a physician to try any medicine, he does 
not on that account put any restraint on his immoderate eating." 
The truth of such accounts was soon apparent to Dr. Zimmer- 
mann from his own observation. We will give in his very words 
his report of the King's dinner on the 30th of June : — 

" This day the King took a very large quantity of soup, and this con- 
sisted, as usual with him, of the very strongest and most highly spiced 
ingredients ; yet, spiced as it was already, he added to each plate of it 
a large spoonful of pounded ginger and mace. His Majesty then ate a 
good piece of bceufa la Russe — beef which had been steeped in half a 
quart of brandy. Next he took a great quantity of an Italian dish, 
which is made half of Indian corn and half of Parmesan cheese ; to this 
the juice of garlic is added, and the whole is baked in butter until there 
arises a hard rind as thick as a finger. This, one of the King's most 
darling dishes, is named Polenta. At last," continues Zimmermann, 
il the King having expressed his satisfaction at the excellent appetite 
which the Dandelion gave him, closed the scene with a whole plateful 
of eel-pie, which was so hot and fiery that it seemed as though it had 



FREDEKICK THE SECOND. 235 

been baked in Hell ! Even before leaving the table on this occasion 
he fell into a doze, and was seized with convulsions. At other times 
again," adds the Doctor, "the King would eat a large quantity of 
chilling and unwholesome fruits, especially melons, and then again a 
vast number of sweetmeats." 

With such irregularities on the part of a septuagenary invalid 
— still persevered in, notwithstanding all Dr. Zimmermann's 
warnings — our readers will not be surprised to learn that his 
ailments during the month of July became greatly aggravated, 
and that every hope of amendment, or even alleviation to 
them, disappeared. The last time that he mounted Conde 
was on the 4th of July, when he was with great difficulty 
lifted into his saddle, and after a short gallop manifested extreme 
exhaustion. 

Through the whole of his long illness there was no word or 
deed of the King which referred to religious feelings, or betokened 
any idea of a future state. All his thoughts apparently were of 
this earth — to fulfil his Royal duties and also enjoy his personal 
pleasures to the last. On one occasion when he received a 
letter from some zealous persons urging his conversion, he handed 
the letter to one of his Secretaries for reply, merely saying with 
unusual gentleness, " They should be answered kindly, for they 
mean well !" 

Frederick does not appear, during his last illness, to have seen 
or wished to see any member of his family ; but almost every 
evening he received as usual his circle of literary friends. He 
never wearied them with complaints of his painful state, nor 
even mentioned it, but conversed cheerfully on the events of the 
day, and on various points of history and horticulture, literature 
and philosophy. He also continued both to read himself and be 
read to. The last works which he perused were a ' History of 
Henry IV. of France ;' the ' Siecle de Louis XV.' by Voltaire ; 
and the * Twelve Caesars ' of Suetonius as translated by La 
Harpe. 

Conscious as was Frederick of his daily declining health, and 
hopeless as his state had now become, it is not clear how far he 
was himself aware of his near approaching dissolution. On the 
10th of August he wrote as follows to his sister, the Duchess of 
Brunswick : — 



236 LAST YEARS OF 



" My adorable Sister, — The Hanoverian Doctor* wished to keep up 
his importance with you, my good sister ; but the truth is that he was of 
no use to me. Old people must make way for young, so that each gene- 
ration may find its place in the world ; and when one comes really to 
examine what is life, one finds that it is only to see one's contemporaries 
die and be born.f Meanwhile I find myself a little relieved within 
these few days. My heart remains inviolably attached to you, my good 
sister. — With the highest consideration, I am, &c, Federic." 

Next day, however, we find the King, as if in expectation of a 
longer life, dictate a letter to the bookseller Pitra, for a supply 
of new publications to his library in the ensuing year. 

To the last, Frederick displayed the same unconquerable ap- 
plication, the same ardent zeal for the improvement of his states. 
Thus, on the 1st of August, we may observe that he dictated 
both instructions and inquiries as the first step towards the re- 
claiming of a large morass near Tilsit. To the last, also, there 
continued the same care and thought for the gratification of his 
palate. Some of the daily bills of fare laid before him within a 
fortnight of his death, and corrected by his own hand, are still 
preserved. Thus, on the 4th of August, one of the dishes pro- 
posed to him was Des gateaux a la Rothenbourg , to be executed 
by one of his culinary artists with the classic name of Dionysius ; 
but on reflection his Majesty deemed it better to substitute 
another dish and another cook, named Gosset, to dress it. Ac- 
cordingly he effaced the names which we have just quoted, and 
wrote upon the margin : " Gosset — Filet de Poulets au Basilic ; 
mais que la sauce ne soit pas trop epaisse I" 

Of the following day, the 5th of August, the entire bill of fare 
was as follows. The crosses which appear against some of the dishes 
were marked by the King's own hand, to denote, as we have 
already explained, those of which he had both eaten and ap- 
proved: — 

+ Soupe aux choux a la Fouque, avec perdrix et petit lard. 
+ Du bceuf au pannais et carottes. 

Des poulets au cannelon aux concombres farcis au blanc a VAn- 



* Zimmermann. 

f We translate literally mourir et naitre ; most writers would probably 
have transposed the words. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 237 

glaise. (This dish had been struck out by the King, and 
he wrote instead of it) : Des cotelettes dans du papier. 
Des petits pates a la JRomaine. 
-f- Du saumon a la Dessau. 

Filets de volatile a la Pompadour, avec langue de bceuf et croquets. 
Des gateaux a la Portugaise. (This dish had 6 been struck out by 
the King, and he wrote instead of it ): + Des gaufres. 
-f- (In German) Green peas. 
+ (Ditto) Fresh herrings. 
(Ditto) Pickled cucumbers. 

On the morning of the 15th, Frederick, far contrary to his 
usual habit, dozed till eleven o'clock ; then, however, he received 
his Cabinet-Secretaries, and gave them directions with a feeble 
voice, but with his customary clearness. He also drew out for 
General von Rohdich, the Commandant of Potsdam, a plan of 
some manoeuvres which he wished the garrison to execute on the 
morrow — a plan perfectly accurate, and well adapted to the 
ground. At dinner he ate half a lobster, the last food which 
passed his lips. In the afternoon he fell into a kind of stupor, 
which continued more or less through the night. Early on the 
16th a rattle was heard in his throat, and he seemed at the very 
point of death. When it was announced to him, as usual, that 
the Cabinet- Secretaries had come, and were ready in the ante- 
chamber, he could scarcely gasp out words to desire that they 
should wait, and that he would see them presently. They re- 
mained outside, but in the course of the morning General Von 
Rohdich entered his room. As that officer appeared before him, 
it was painful to observe how the dying Monarch strove to collect 
his failing energy and fulfil his daily task ; how he laboured, but 
all in vain, to raise his drooping head from the corner of his 
chair, to fix his glassy eye, and to move his speechless tongue. 
The General put up his papers, and withdrew in silence, with a 
handkerchief before his face. When, in the afternoon, at the 
desire of the Prince of Prussia, Dr. Selle came from Berlin, he 
found that his Royal Patient had slightly rallied, being able to 
stir a few steps, and articulate a few words ; — but for the first 
time during his long reign, he never mentioned, and seemed to 
have forgotten, the current business, not yet despatched, of the 
day — a surer symptom than any other, observed Dr. Selle, of his 



238 LAST YEARS OF 



close approaching dissolution. About seven o'clock the King 
had a short but quiet and refreshing interval of sleep. As the 
clock placed above his head struck eleven, he inquired the hour, 
and on being told, he added, " At four o'clock I will rise." 
About midnight his Majesty observed that his favourite dog had 
sprung from the allotted cushion by his side, upon which he in- 
quired where he was, and desired that he might be put back 
again. These were the last words he spoke. Soon after the 
rattle in his throat returned, his breathing grew fainter and 
fainter, and at twenty minutes past two, on the morning of the 
17th of August, he expired. He was seventy-four years and six 
months of age. 

It is remarkable that during all this time — so strict was the 
discipline in the Royal Household — the King's imminent danger 
remained a secret not only to most of the Foreign Ministers at 
Berlin, but also to most members of the Royal Family. Even 
on the 16th, when the King was at the last extremity, the Queen 
gave an afternoon party at Schonhausen. Mirabeau, who had 
just returned from a visit to Prince Henry at Rheinsberg, was 
present, and states that the Envoy of France was by no means 
aware of the crisis being so near at hand, and that the Queen 
herself was equally unconscious. In Mirabeau's own words, 
" Her Majesty had no idea of it : she spoke to me of nothing but 
the coat which I wore, of Rheinsberg, and of the happiness 
which she had there enjoyed while still Princess Royal."* Thus 
was her Majesty talking of her honeymoon in the last hours of 
her married life ! 

In the portrait which we have now endeavoured to draw of 
Frederick's private character in old age and his system of ad- 
ministration in peace, we are conscious that many of the features 
may appear scarcely consistent with each other, or as apper- 
taining to one and the same mind. As in the giant figure of 
Dante's vision : — 

" Dentro dal monte sta dritto un gran veglio : 

La sua testa e di fin' oro formata, 

E puro argento son le braccia e '1 petto ; 

Poi e di rame infino alia forcata ; 

* Histoire Secrete de Berlin, vol. i. p. 84, ed. 1789. 



FREDERICK THE SECOND. 239 

Da indi in giuso e tutto ferro eletto, 

Salvo che '1 destro piede e terra cotta, 

E sta 'n su quel, piu che 'n nell' altro eretto : 

Ciascuna parte, fuor che 1 'oro, e rotta t "* 

Thus also in King Frederick the clay was strangely blended 
with the gold ; it is impossible to deny with truth the presence 
of either, and it remains only to assign precisely the different 
proportions. 

Mr. Macaulay, in a most able sketch of Frederick's early life 
and campaigns — a sketch which has appeared in the pages of a 
contemporary journal, f but not as yet among his own collected 
Essays — calls his Prussian Majesty " the greatest King that has 
in modern times succeeded by right of birth to a throne." With 
very sincere respect for Mr. Macaulay's critical authority, we 
must here however dissent from his conclusion. Several Royal 
and legitimate names occur to us as deserving to stand higher on 
the rolls of fame. Thus, upon the whole, and not without a 
consciousness of many blemishes and errors in our hero, we 
should prefer to Frederick, the Fourth Henry of France. But 
without any doubt or hesitation we should assign the palm over 
both to Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. As with Frederick, 
his grandfather was the first King of his race ; to that King, like 
Frederick, he was lineal and peaceful heir. Succeeding to the 
throne at a far earlier age than the Prussian monarch, he fell in 
the field of glory when only thirty-seven — that age so often fatal 
to genius — yet within that narrow space, during those few and 
youthful years, how much had he already achieved for immor- 
tality ! As a statesman he may be held to have surpassed, as a 
warrior to have equalled, Frederick. And if lofty principles 
and a thought of things beyond this earth be admitted ,as an ele- 
ment of greatness (as undoubtedly they should be), how much 
will the balance then incline to the side of Gustavus ! The 
victory gained by the Prussian King at Rosbaeh was, we allow, 
fully equal to the victory gained by the Swedish King at Leip- 
sick on nearly the same ground one hundred and twenty-seven 
years before. The two Monarchs were alike in the action ; but 
how striking the contrast between them in the evening of the 

* Inferno, Canto xiv. 
f Edinburgh Review, No. 151, April, 1842. 



240 LAST YEARS OF FREDERICK THE SECOND. 

well-fought day ! Gustavus kneeling down at the head of all his 
troops to give God the glory ! Frederick seated alone in his 
tent, and composing his loathsome Ode ! 

The character of Frederick is now, we rejoice to think, viewed 
by his own countrymen in a fair and discriminating spirit. On 
the one hand there is, and there ought to be, the greatest admi- 
ration for his military genius and renown ; on the other hand 
there is no leaning to his infidel philosophy, or to his iron des- 
potism, or to his fantastic notions of finance. The French lan- 
guage is not now preferred to the German by the Germans 
themselves, nor is the literature of Berlin any longer the pale 
reflex of that of Paris. On the contrary, there appears to grow 
on the banks of the Elbe and the Rhine the inclination to a care- 
ful study of the kindred tongue — to a generous emulation with 
the kindred race, of England. Even now such names as Hum- 
boldt and Hallam, as Eastlake and Cornelius, may worthily stand 
side by side. Nor, we hope, is the day far distant when the pro- 
gress of Prussia in her constitutional rights shall enable her 
statesmen to vie with ours in the principles of free institutions, 
and in that manly and unpremeditated eloquence which free in- 
stitutions alone can produce or preserve. 



MR. PITT AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 241 



LETTEES BETWEEN ME. PITT AND 
THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 

[Qu. Rev., No. 140. September, 1842.] ? % 

Correspondence between Mr. Pitt and the Duke of Rutland, Lord-Lieu- 
tenant of Ireland, 1781 — 1787. (Privately printed.) London, 1842. 
pp. 174. 

It has been laid down as a rule by a great orator of ancient times, 
that writing well is the best and surest preparation for speaking 
well. Stilus optimus et prcestantissimus dicendi effector et 
magister are the words of Cicero.* On the other hand, it seems 
natural to suppose that a man able and ready with his tongue 
should be still more able and ready with his pen. If he can 
without premeditation pour forth acute arguments in eloquent 
language, surely the advantages of leisure will supply the same 
acuteness and the same eloquence in at least equal perfection. 

Neither of these conclusions, however, is entirely borne out by 
experience. Burke, whose writings will delight and instruct the 
latest posterity, often delivered his harangues to empty benches 
or a yawning audience, and was known to his contemporaries by 
the nickname of "the Dinner-Bell." 

" Too deep for his hearers, he went on refining ; 

And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining ! " 

Fox, so pre-eminent as a debater, appears with small distinction 
in his authorship. Nay more, even the high skill of the Re- 
porters' Gallery fails to give any just idea of the real merits of 
a speech as well or ill-adapted to its hearers. Every one must 
have frequently felt surprise at his inability to discover — with 
the ' Times ' or the i Chronicle ' in his hand — any good points in 
the speech which the night before has made the whole House ring 
with enthusiastic cheers ; or, on the contrary, has wondered at 

* De Oratore, lib. i. c. 33. 

R 



242 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

the slight effect produced at the time, by what he afterwards 
reads with so much pleasure. We have heard a most eminent 
living statesman observe how very erroneous an idea, as to the 
comparative estimation of our public characters, would be formed 
by a foreigner who was unacquainted with our history, and who 
judged only from Hansard's ' Debates/ Who, for instance, 
now remembers the name of Mr. Charles Marsh ? Yet one of 
the most pointed and vigorous philippics which we have read in 
any language stands in the name of Mr. Marsh, under the date 
of the 1st of July, 1813. 

It has, therefore, always been a subject of doubt and discussion, 
notwithstanding the oratorical eminence of Mr. Pitt, whether he 
likewise excelled in written composition. Up to this time the 
general impression, we believe, is, that he did not. This im- 
pression has, in part perhaps, proceeded from the example of his 
father, the great Lord Chatham, whose style in his correspond- 
ence appears by no means worthy of such a mind — swelling, 
empty, cumbrous — and, even to his own family, seeking meta- 
phors and epithets instead of precision and clearness. Another 
cause of that impression may have been, that Mr. Pitt, whenever 
it was possible, preferred transacting business in personal inter- 
views rather than in writing. 

Of this usual course in Mr. Pitt a strong proof came under 
our own observation. Once, when the writer of this article was 
on a visit at Lowther Castle, the venerable Earl, who amidst 
advancing years never wearies in acts of courtesy and kindness 
to all around him, indulged his friend's curiosity with a large 
packet of letters addressed by Mr. Pitt to himself, and to his 
kinsman Sir James. These letters had been most properly pre- 
served as autographs ; but, with one or two remarkable exceptions, 
they were very short, and nearly in the following strain : — " Dear 
Lowther, Pray call on me in the course of the morning." — 
" Dear Lowther, Let me see you at the Treasury as soon as you 
can." — " Dear Lowther, When shall you be next in town, as I 
wish to speak to you ?" — in short, referring almost every subject 
to conversation instead of correspondence. 

But whatever doubts may have been entertained as to Mr. 
Pitt's abilities for writing, are now, as we conceive, set at rest 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 243 

by a fortunate discovery in the House of Rutland. It may be 
recollected, that the late Duke was appointed by Mr. Pitt, in 
1784, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and died as such, in 1787, at 
the early age of thirty-three. The Duchess, his widow, survived 
till 1831. Not long since, as their eldest son, the present Duke, 
was arranging Her Grace's papers, he unexpectedly lighted upon 
a long series of confidential communications between Downing 
Street and Dublin Castle. In this case it was manifestly impos- 
sible for the Prime Minister to hold personal interviews with the 
Lord-Lieutenant: in this case, therefore, Mr. Pitt wrote, and 
wrote most fully and freely. The greater part of the letters are 
marked "private," "most private," "secret," "most secret," 
and are evidently composed, not merely as between official 
colleagues, but familiar friends. The value of these docu- 
ments to illustrate the history of the times and the character 
of Mr. Pitt could not fail to be apparent ; and although there 
might be some ground against their publication at present, the 
Duke of Rutland has in the most liberal manner consented 
that a certain number should be printed for the gratification of 
his friends. 

Of the letters thus printed in the course of the present summer, 
we have had the honour to receive a copy, and we feel no hesi- 
tation in saying that — written though many of them were, in the 
very height of the session, or the utmost hurry of business — they 
appear to us models in that kind of composition. We can 
scarcely praise them more highly than by saying that they rival 
Lord Bolingbroke's celebrated diplomatic correspondence, of 
which, as we know from other sources, Mr. Pitt was a warm 
admirer. They never strain at any of those rhetorical ornaments 
which, when real business is concerned, become only obstructions, 
but are endowed with a natural grace and dignity — a happy 
choice of words, and a constant clearness of thought. Although 
in the MS. seldom divided into paragraphs, they display neither 
confusion, nor yet abrupt transition of subjects, but flow on, as it 
were, in an even and continuous stream. 

Of these merits, however, we shall now give our readers an 
opportunity of judging for themselves. Here, for example, is a 
confidential inquiry, which was addressed to the Duke of Rut- 

r2 



244 LETTERS BETWEEN ME. PITT 

land as to some faults imputed to his secretary, Mr. Orde,* and 
which, as it seems to us, most justly combines a zeal for the 
public service with a tenderness for personal feelings : — 

" Mr. Pitt to the Duke of Rutland. 

" [Secret.] " Brighthelmstone, Oct. 28, 1785. 

" My dear Duke, — I would not break in upon you in the course of 
your tour, if the business I wish to bring under your consideration was 
less pressing and important than it is. You will be so good to under- 
stand what I have to say upon it as being in the most entire confidence 
and secrecy, as indeed the subject itself sufficiently implies. 

" Various accounts have reached me from persons connected with 
Ireland, too material to the interest of your government, and conse- 
quently to us both, to make it possible for me to delay communicating 
the substance immediately to you, and desiring such farther information 
and advice as you alone can give. While all quarters agree in eulo- 
giums, which do not surprise me, on every part of your own conduct, 
and on the prudence, spirit, and firmness of your government, the pic- 
ture they give of the first instrument of your administration is very 
different. They state that Mr. Orde has incurred the imputation of 
irresolution and timidity, and a suspicion even of duplicity, still more 
prejudicial than his want of decision ; and that if the management of 
the House of Commons, and the duties of secretary, are left in his 
hands, it will be impossible to answer what may be the consequences to 
Government even in the next session. 

" This information you may imagine does not come directly to me ; and 
I neither know how far it is to be depended upon, nor have any means 
myself of ascertaining it but by stating it to you, who may be able to 
do so. I receive every such intimation with great allowance for a 
thousand prejudices or secret motives in which it may originate ; but I 
still think it too serious to be wholly disregarded. From all I have 
had an opportunity of seeing, I give Mr. Orde credit for considerable 
abilities and industry, and for perfect good intention. I am, therefore, 
inclined to think such representations as I have mentioned at least 
greatly exaggerated. But I am sensible that his manners do not lead 
him to be direct and explicit in doing business, and that his temper is 
not decisive. This may make him not distinct enough in his dealings 



* The Right Hon. Thomas Orde. He had been Secretary of the Treasury 
in 1782. In 1797 he was created Lord Bolton, and died in 1807. 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 245 

with men or personal objects, and content, without knowing as dis- 
tinctly as he ought, on the other hand, what he has to trust to from 
them ; and these circumstances will sometimes have the appearance, 
and generally the bad effect, of the qualities imputed to him. 

" It is stated particularly, that when the commercial bill was brought 
forward, he had neither taken sufficient pains to ascertain who were the 
friends of Government, nor to collect those who were certainly so, but 
had trusted to vague assurances and general expectations, which pro- 
duced the consequences we saw. This I am more apt to believe, be- 
cause I think, even now, after that session, he is not prepared to give 
any clear and satisfactory statement of the support on which Govern- 
ment may rely. 

"Ido not mention what passed on the commercial question as a thing 
to be lamented in the event : on the contrary, if the effect of more ex- 
ertion in Mr. Orde had been to procure twenty or thirty more votes in 
the House of Commons, it would, as events have proved, perhaps have 
been a misfortune ; but occasions might arise in which the same want 
of address or vigour might be fatal. 

" Upon the whole, if there is any reasonable ground for the sugges- 
tions I have mentioned, 1 think you will agree with me that it would 
be \ery desirable to open a retreat for Orde, and to endeavour to find 
some other person whom you would approve of to take his place. But, 
at the same time, this is not a resolution to be lightly taken, because, 
although the pledge for the continuance of the same system, and the 
main grounds of confidence, would still continue, where they have 
hitherto existed, in your own person, yet even the change of the Secre- 
tary must interrupt and derange for a time the machine of government 
in a way which ought to be avoided, if there is no strong necessity for 
hazarding it. 

"All, therefore, that occurs to me, under these circumstances, is, 
first, what I have now done, to state the whole to you, and to desire the 
most confidential communication of your opinions and wishes concerning 
it. You may, perhaps, in your situation, find it difficult to obtain from 
the truest friends of Government their real sentiments on so delicate a 
point; you may have a difficulty in endeavouring to sound any of them ; 
and I know not whether there are any whose integrity and good sense 
you would trust sufficiently to communicate with them on such points ; 
but it is possible that you may find opportunities of doing so without 
committing yourself too far. At all events, you can compare what I 
have stated with the result of your own experience and observation of 
Mr. Orde's conduct, and you will be best able to judge whether there 
is any probability of its being founded. And, above all, you will have 
the goodness to tell me freely, whether, if from such materials as we 



246 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 



can collect the opinion here should incline to remove Mr. Orde, you 
feel in your own mind any objection, provided you can pitch upon a 
proper person to succeed him ; and be persuaded that the knowledge 
of your inclination in this respect will be decisive, both on my opinion 
and my wishes. 

" The only other way by which I can be enabled to judge farther on 
this subject is by calling on Mr. Orde himself, as may naturally be 
done in the present circumstances, to state, more precisely than he has 
hitherto done, the strength and reliance of Government, and the pros- 
pect he has of carrying through the public service in the House of 
Commons. By this means, one material part of the consideration may, 
I think, be ascertained with a good deal of accuracy. 

" It may seem premature to proceed already to talk of the person to 
succeed before the preliminary point is ascertained. In mentioning it, 
however, I do not mean to anticipate your decision on the prudence of 
making the change, in which my own opinion is in no degree settled, 
but I wish, in order to avoid delay, whatever may be the final result, 
that the whole subject should be at once before you. I need hardly 
say, that, if the change should take place, any person whom you could 
select for this trust would be sure to be at once acquiesced in here. 
But from what has passed formerly I must doubt whether you have any 
one to name, Fitzherbert* being, from his situation, so far out of the 
question. 

" Only three names have occurred to me, which I mention to you 
that you may turn them in your mind. The first is W. Grenville ;f 
I do not know that he would take it, and rather suppose that he would 
not. I think, too, that his near connexion with Lord Buckingham is 
itself perhaps a sufficient objection, though in temper and disposition he 
is much the reverse of his brother, and in good sense and habits of 
business very fit for such a situation. 

" The second I have to name is Steele :f I know as little whether 
he would take it, having never hinted a syllable to him on the subject, 
and I could very ill spare him from his present situation at the Trea- 
sury ; but if no other good arrangement could be found, I believe I 
should make the sacrifice, for such it would be. He has exceeding good 
abilities, great clearness and discretion, the most manly disposition, 
the best temper, and most agreeable manners possible, and speaks well 
in public. 

* Alleyne Fitzherbert. He became Secretary for Ireland under the Duke 
of Rutland's successor, and in 1801 was created Lord St. Helen's. 

f William Wyndham Grenville, afterwards Lord Grenville. 

I The Right Hon. Thomas Steele, for many years Secretary of the 
Treasury. 



x\ND THE DUKE OF KUTLAND. 247 

" The third person is Faulkener, whom I believe you know quite as 
well as I do. He has the reputation of uncommon cleverness, is very 
accomplished, and seems a man of" spirit. I have had some opportunity 
of seeing him in business at the Privy Council, on occasions which tried 
his abilities, and have from thence been led to rate him very high. He 
is, however, reckoned to be of a bad temper ; but you would not be ex- 
posed to the inconvenience of it, and I should hope he would have sense 
enough to control it in public. I have now unbosomed myself of every- 
thing, and need not repeat, that, as I have written without a shadow of 
reserve, all I have said is for yourself only. Have the goodness to re- 
turn me an answer as speedily as you can, after revolving all this in 
your mind, as the season of the year requires that, one way or other, 
the business should be soon decided. 

" I have many other things to write to you upon, but this letter is too 
long already. I cannot conclude without telling you the pride and satis- 
faction I take in the credit and honour which, under all the difficulties 
and disappointments of the time, has resulted to yourself, and which 
will, I trust, be increased and confirmed in every hour of your govern- 
ment. " Believe me ever, 

" My dear Duke, 

" Most faithfully and affectionately yours, 

" W. Pitt. 

" P.S. — I must just add (though foreign from the subject of this 
letter) that the situation of our finances here proves flourishing beyond 
almost what could be expected. We are in possession, from the existing 
taxes, of a surplus of about 800,000/. for sinking fund already, and it is 
advancing fast to a clear million. 

" I should have stated, that, if the change should take place, every 
management would be had for Orde's feelings, and it might be made 
to appear an act of choice in him." 

No copy of the Duke's reply to this letter is preserved among 
his papers, but it appears to have entirely acquitted Mr. Orde 
from blame, since Mr. Pitt, in his next communication (Nov. 
13, 1785), thus rejoins : — 

" I am, be assured, infinitely happy at finding the suggestions I had 
thought myself obliged to communicate to you, to so great a degree 
contradicted. Every idea of Mr. Orde's retirement will be totally laid 
aside in my mind." 

It may easily be supposed that — the scene being laid at 
Dublin — there is no lack of applications for place and promotion. 



248 LETTEES BETWEEN MR. PITT 

These the Lord-Lieutenant, as was his duty, transmits to the 
Prime Minister. In one communication (June 16, 1784) he 
observes : — " You are so unused to receive letters which contain 
no application, that if it were for form's sake only I must recom- 
mend " — and then follows the name of " a friend" Foremost 
among such as these come demands for Irish Marquisates or 
English Baronies, from noblemen of large Parliamentary interest 
at Dublin. But to such requests Mr. Pitt states a strong ob- 
jection (July 19, 1786) :— 

" I am certainly very anxious to forward anything you think material 
for the ease and success of your government, and extremely inclined to 
concur in showing a marked attention to its stedfast supporters ; but I 
have no difficulty in stating fairly to you, that a variety of circumstances 
have unavoidably led me to recommend a larger addition to the British 
peerage than I like, or than I think quite creditable, and that I am on 
that account very desirous not to increase it now farther than is abso- 
lutely necessary." 

It is remarkable that the large multiplication of honours which 
has been charged against Mr. Pitt's administration took place at 
a subsequent period. We may therefore conclude that in ad- 
vising or acceding to it, Mr. Pitt consulted rather the growing 
difficulties of the times than the natural dictates of his judgment. 

We may remark, also — not merely as to the point of patronage 
or promotion, but as to every other subject treated in these pages 
— how pure appears the mind, how lofty the view of the Great 
Minister. There is never the least approach — not even on the 
congenial soil of Ireland — to a job. While he shows every 
anxiety to gratify his colleagues, or to serve his friends, all his 
determinations, all his expressions, bear the stamp of the noblest 
public spirit. 

Among the few persons for whose employment Mr. Pitt him- 
self expresses a wish in these pages, it is interesting to trace the 
name of one who has since attained such high renown in the 
public service, and who still survives in a green and honoured 
old age — the then Earl of Mornington, the present Marquess 
Wellesley. In a letter of August 9th, 1784 (Lord Mornington 
being then but twenty-four years of age) Mr. Pitt says : — 

" The immediate object I have in writing at this moment is to state 
to you some circumstances relative to Lord Mornington, and to beg you 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 249 



to let me know how far the ideas I have conceived on the subject corre- 
spond with yours. I find he considers himself as entitled, from the 
assurances he received both from you and me, either personally or 
through Lord Temple, before you went to Ireland, to expect the earliest 
mark of the favour of Government in that country which its circum- 
stances could admit of. He expresses a full disposition to have made 
every allowance for the exigencies of a new government, at so critical a 
time ; but I think he seems to imagine that there was an appearance ot 
his pretensions being postponed, either without sufficient grounds, or 
without their being so confidentially stated to him as he supposed he 
had a claim to. He seems at the same time to feel a real zeal for the 
interests and credit of your government, and a strong sense of the marks 
of your personal friendship. I am very anxious, for all our sakes, that 
there should be no misapprehension on the subject, both from a high 
opinion of him, and from feeling (as I am sure you will) a great desire 
that any thing like an engagement, or even a reasonable expectation, 
should not be disappointed." 

And on the 15th of August following the Duke of Rutland 
thus replies : — 

" I can have no hesitation in saying that Lord Mornington shall have 
the first office which may fall worthy of his acceptance. His merits are 

very great, which I am sure I am one of the first men to allow 

Lord Mornington, as I have always stated to him, stands first for what- 
ever may offer. I have his interest much at heart, as well from private 
regard as from a conviction of his powers to render the public essential 
service." 

One of the most important and most difficult subjects which 
engaged the Duke's attention was that of Iirsh tithes, on which 
we find him (September 13th, 1786) refer to Mr. Pitt for 
direction : — 

" The question of the tithes, with the commotions of the Whiteboys, 
will, I am apprehensive, form business for a very tedious session. A 
Parliamentary investigation into the causes of their complaints will cer- 
tainly take place, and is indeed become necessary. It is of the utmost 
consequence to prevent this question from falling into the hands of Oppo- 
sition, who would employ it to the most mischievous purposes, and who 
might raise a storm which it would not be easy to direct. This business 
is of extreme delicacy and complication. We have the most rooted 
prejudices to contend with. The Episcopal part of the clergy consider 
any settlement as a direct attack on their most ancient rights, and as a 



250 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

commencement of the ruin of their establishment ; whereas many indi- 
vidual clergymen, who foresee no prospect of receiving any property at 
all under the present system, are extremely desirous of a fair adjustment. 
The Established Church, with legions of Papists on one side and a 
violent Presbytery on the other, must be supported, however, decidedly, 
as the principle that combinations are to compel measures must be ex- 
terminated out of the country and from the public mind ; at the same 
time the country must not be permitted to continue in a state little less 
than war, when a substantial grievance is alleged to be the cause. The 
majority of the laity, who are at all times ready to oppose tithes, are 
likewise strong advocates for some settlement. On the whole it forms 
a most involved and difficult question ; on all hands it is agreed that it 
ought to be investigated : but then it is problematical whether any 
effectual remedy can be applied without endangering the Establishment, 
which must be guarded ; and next, whether any arrangement could be 
suggested which the Church (who must be consulted) would agree to, 
adequate to the nature and extent of the evil complained of. In short, 
it involves a great political settlement, worthy of the decision of your 
clear and incomparable judgment." 

The letter of Mr. Pitt in reply is perhaps the most remarkable 
of this whole collection. It is dated Burton Pynsent, November 
7th, 1786 :— 

" I have thought very much since I received your letter respecting 
the general state of Ireland, on the subjects suggested in that and your 
official letters to Lord Sydney. The question which arises is a nice and 
difficult one. On the one hand, the discontent seems general and rooted, 
and both that circumstance and most of the accounts I hear seem to 
indicate that there is some real grievance at bottom, which must be re- 
moved before any durable tranquillity can be secured. On the other 
hand, it is certainly a delicate thing to meddle with the Church Esta- 
blishment in the present situation of Ireland ; and anything like conces- 
sion to the dangerous spirit which has shown itself is not without 
objection. But on the whole, being persuaded that Government ought 
not to be afraid of incurring the imputation of weakness, by yielding in 
reasonable points, and can never make its stand effectually till it gets 
upon right ground, I think the great object ought to be, to ascertain 
fairly the true causes of complaint, to hold out a sincere disposition to 
give just redress, and a firm determination to do no more, taking care in 
the interval to hold up vigorously the execution of the law as it stands 
till altered by Parliament, and to punish severely (if the means can 
be found) any tumultuous attempt to violate it. 

" I certainly think the institution of tithe, especially if rigorously en- 



AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 251 

forced, is a great obstacle to the improvement and prosperity of any 
country. Many circumstances in practice have made it less so here ; but 
even here it is felt ; and there are a variety of causes to make it sit much 
heavier on Ireland. 

" I believe, too, that it is as much for the real interest of the Church 
as for that of the land to adopt, if practicable, some other mode of pro- 
vision. If from any cause the Church falls into general odium, Govern- 
ment will be more likely to risk its own interests than to save those of 
the Church by any efforts in its favour. If, therefore, those who are 
at the head of the clergy will look at it soberly and dispassionately, 
they will see how incumbent it is upon them, in every point of view, to 
propose some temperate accommodation ; and even the appearance of 
concession, which might be awkward in Government, could not be un- 
becoming if it originated with them. 

" The thing to be aimed at, therefore, seems, as far as I can judge of it, 
to find out a way of removing the grievances arising out of a tithe, or, 
perhaps, to substitute some new provision in lieu of it ; to have such a 
plan cautiously digested (which may require much time), and, above 
all, to make the Church itself the quarter to bring forward whatever is 
proposed. 

" How far this is practicable must depend upon many circumstances, 
of which you can form a nearer and better judgment, particularly on the 
temper of the leading men among the clergy. I apprehend you may 
have a good deal of difficulty with the Archbishop of Cashel ;* the 
Primate f is, I imagine, a man to listen to temperate advice 5 but it is 
surely desirable that you should have as speedily as possible a full com- 
munication with both of them ; and if you feel the subject- in the same 
light that I do, that, while you state to them the full determination of 
Government to give them all just and honourable support, you should 
impress them seriously with the apprehension of their risking everything 
if they do not in time abandon ground that is ultimately untenable. 

"To suggest the precise plan of commutation which might be adopted 
is more than lam equal to, and is premature ; but in general I have never 
seen any good reason why a fair valuation should not be made of the 
present amount of every living, and a rent in corn to that amount to be 
raised by a pound rate on the several tenements in the parish, nearly 
according to the proportion in which they now contribute to tithe. 
When I say a rent in corn, I do not actually mean paid in corn, but a 
rent in money regulated by the average value from time to time of 



* Dr. Charles Agar, afterwards translated to the Archbishopric of Dublin. 
In 1795 he was created Lord Somerton, and in 1806 Earl of Normanton. 

f Dr. .Richard Robinson, Archbishop of Armagh. He had been, in 1777, 
created Lord Rokeby. 



252 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

whatever number of bushels is at present equal to the fair value of the 
living. This would effectually prevent the Church from suffering by the 
fluctuations in the value of money, and it is a mode which was adopted 
in all college leases, in consequence, I believe, of an act of Parliament 
in the time of Queen Elizabeth. 

" I need not say that I throw out these ideas in personal confidence 
to yourself ; and I shall wish much to know what you think of them, 
and whether you can make anything of your prelates, before any measure 
is officially suggested. It seems material that there should be the 
utmost secrecy till our line is decided upon, and it must be decided 
upon completely before Parliament meets. 

" Yours faithfully and sincerely, 

" W. Pitt." 

We have been greatly struck at observing how closely the 
proposal thus hastily thrown out resembles the plan on which the 
English Tithe Commutation Act was recently framed. What 
deep heart-burnings — what violent collisions — might have been 
spared had Mr. Pitt's enlightened policy prevailed fifty years 
before ! 

Other questions of paramount importance that are discussed 
between the Duke and the Minister refer to the celebrated com- 
mercial propositions. We may trace in these letters their gradual 
growth and development in the mind of Mr. Pitt. He states his 
first impressions as follows: — 

" Mr. Pitt to the Duke of Rutland. 
" [Private.'] " Putney Heath, Oct. 7, 1784. 

" My dear Duke, — I have been intending every day for some time 
past to trouble you with a letter ; though in many respects I cannot 
write so fully as the important subjects in question require, till I receive 
materials of information which I expect from the result of Mr. Orde's 
inquiries, and from the various questions I have persecuted him with. 
I am in hopes now that your situation is such as to allow a little more 
respite from the incessant calls of the day, and to furnish leisure for 
going forward in the great and complicated questions we have to settle 
before the meeting of Parliament. I have desultorily, at different times, 
stated in my letters to him the ideas floating in my mind, as the subjects 
in question carried me to them ; and I have not troubled you with any 
repetition of them, because I knew you would be acquainted with them 
as far as they were worth it, and they certainly were neither distinct nor 
digested enough to deserve being written twice. 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 253 

" I feel, however, notwithstanding the difficulty of deciding upon 
many of the delicate considerations which present themselves in the 
arduous business you have in your hands, that a plan must be concerted 
on all the points, and as far as possible adapted to all the contingencies 
that may happen, before the meeting of Parliament. The commercial 
points of discussion, though numerous and comprehensive, may certainly 
be ascertained and reduced to clear principles by diligent investigation. 

" The internal question of Parliamentary reform, though simpler, is 
perhaps more difficult and hazardous ; and the line of future permanent 
connexion between the two countries must be the result of both the pre- 
ceding questions, and of such arrangements as must accompany a settle- 
ment of them. I am revolving these in every shape in my mind ; and 
when I have had the information which I hope to receive in Mr. Orde's 
next packets, I trust I shall be able to send you the best result of my 
judgment, which I shall wish to submit to your private consideration, in 
order to learn confidentially the extent of your ideas on the whole plan 
to be pursued, before it is formally brought under the consideration of 
the Cabinet here. 

" I own to you the line to which my mind at present inclines (open 
to whatever new observations or arguments may be suggested to me) is, 
to give Ireland an almost unlimited communication of commercial advan- 
tages, if we can receive in return some security that her strength and 
riches will be our benefit, and that she will contribute from time to time 
in their increasing proportions to the common exigencies of the empire ; 
and — having, by holding out this, removed, I trust, every temptation to 
Ireland to consider her interest as separate from England — to be ready, 
while we discountenance wild and unconstitutional attempts, which strike 
at the root of all authority, to give real efficacy and popularity to 
Government by acceding (if such a line can be found) to a prudent and 
temperate reform of Parliament, which may guard against or gradually 
cure real defects and mischiefs, may show a sufficient regard to the 
interests and even prejudices of individuals who are concerned, and may 
unite the Protestant interest in excluding the Catholics from any share 
in the representation or the government of the country." 

Neither on Parliamentary reform, nor on the contribution to 
be expected from Ireland in return for commercial advantages, 
did the Duke of Rutland take altogether the same view as his 
friend in Downing Street. Mr. Pitt accordingly reverts to both 
questions. Of reform in Parliament he writes (October 8, 
1784) :— 

" What I venture to suggest for your consideration is, whether it be 
possible for you to gain any authentic knowledge (without committing 



254 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

yourself) of the extent of the numbers who are really zealous for 
reform, and of the ideas that would content them. By all I hear acci- 
dentally, the Protestant reformers are alarmed at the pretensions of the 
Catholics, and for that very reason would stop very short of the extreme 
speculative notions of universal suffrage. Could there be any way of 
your confidentially sounding Lord Charlemont without any danger from 
the consequences ?" 

And again (December 4, 1784) : — 

" Parliamentary reform, I am still sure, after considering all you have 
stated, must sooner or later be carried in both countries. If it is well 
done, the sooner the better. I will write to you, by as early an oppor- 
tunity as I can, the full result of all my reflections on the subject. For 
God's sake, do not persuade yourself, in the mean time, that the measure, 
if properly managed, and separated from every ingredient of faction 
(which I believe it may be), is inconsistent with either the dignity or the 
tranquillity and facility of government. On the contrary, I believe they 
ultimately depend upon it. And if such a settlement is practicable, it 
is the only system worth the hazard and trouble which belongs to every 
system that can be thought of. I write in great haste, and under a 
strong impression of these sentiments. You will perceive that this is 
merely a confidential and personal communication between you and 
myself, and therefore I need add no apology for stating so plainly what 
is floating in my mind on these subjects." 

To the contribution which was expected from Ireland in return 
for commercial advantages, Mr. Pitt applies himself in several 
letters before the meeting of Parliament with great warmth and 
earnestness. The longest of these letters we shall here insert, 
without any apology for its length, since, notwithstanding the 
haste with which, as the postscript mentions, it was written, we 
think that the reader will agree with us when we call it a mas- 
terly argument : — 

" Mr. Pitt to the Duke of Rutland. 
" [Secret.] " Downing Street, Jan. 6, 1785. 

"My dear Duke, — You will receive by the messenger from Lord 
Sydney the official communication of the unanimous opinion of the 
cabinet on the subject of the important settlement to be proposed as 
final and conclusive between Great Britain and Ireland. The objects 
have been considered with all possible attention ; and though minuter 
inquiry may still be necessary, with regard to some few points included 
in the propositions, we are so fully satisfied with the general principles 



AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 255 

on which they rest, that they are without hesitation transmitted to your 
Grace, as containing the substance of a system from which it appears 
wholly impossible for us to depart. 

" I am confirmed by the opinion of Mr. Foster* and Mr. Beresford, as 
well as Mr. Orde, that the complete liberty and equality in matters of 
trade which will by this plan be given to Ireland ought to give the 
fullest satisfaction on that subject ; and if that opinion is enforced and 
supported by all the arguments it admits, and vigorous exertions used to 
circulate it, I trust your Grace will meet with less difficulty than has 
been imagined in obtaining from Ireland those measures on their part 
which are indispensable to accompany it, in order to make the advantage 
reciprocal, and of course to make the system either consistent or durable. 

" I am not sanguine enough to suppose that any plan could at once be 
accepted with universal approbation. No great settlement of this extent 
was ever carried without meeting some, perhaps, strong objections, and 
without requiring much management and perseverance to accomplish it : 
but these will, I am sure, not be wanting on your part; and considering 
the strength of Government in Parliament, and all the circumstances of 
the country, it is impossible to believe that your friends and supporters 
should have really any hesitation, if they once understand, what they 
must know sooner or later, that the settlement between the two king- 
doms, and of course the giving tranquillity to Ireland, and security to any 
interest they have at stake, must turn on this fundamental and essential 
point, of reciprocity in the final compact to be now formed. If the point 
is secured in Parliament, which I cannot allow myself to doubt, I do not 
apprehend much additional clamour or discontent without doors. It 
will be difficult for malice and faction to find many topics calculated to 
catch the mind of the public, if the nature of the measure is fairly stated, 
and sufficiently explained in its true light. 

"lam unwilling to trouble you at present very much at length, and 
have myself little time to spare ; but yet I have the success of this 
whole arrangement so much at heart, from every personal and public 
feeling, knowing that your credit and my own are equally concerned 
with the interest of both countries, and the future prosperity of the 
empire, that you will, I am sure, forgive me, if I call your attention 
more particularly to what strikes me as the true state of what it is which 
we propose to give, and what we require in return. If it appears to you 
in the same light as it does to me, I trust you will feel the impossibility 
of our reconciling our minds to waive so essential an object. I assure 
you there is scarce a man whom I have here consulted who does not 
feel it at least as strongly as I do. 

* The Right Hon. John Foster, afterwards Lord Oriel, was at the time 
Speaker of the Irish House of Commons. 



256 LETTERS BETWEEN ME. PITT 

" The general tenor of our propositions not only gives a full equality 
to Ireland, but extends that principle to many points where it would be 
easy to have urged just exceptions, and in many other points possibly 
turns the scale in her favour, at a risk, perhaps a remote one, of con- 
siderable local disadvantages to many great interests of this country. I 
do not say that in practice I apprehend the effect on our trade and 
manufactures will be such as it will perhaps be industriously represented ; 
but I am persuaded, whatever may be the event, that, by the additions 
now proposed to former concessions, we open to Ireland the chance of a 
competition with ourselves on terms of more than equality, and we give 
her advantages which make it impossible she should ever have anything 
to fear from the jealousy or restrictive policy of this country in future. 
Such an arrangement is defensible only on the idea of relinquishing local 
prejudices and partial advantages, in order to consult uniformly and 
without distinction the general benefit of the empire. This cannot 
be done but by making England and Ireland one country in effect, 
though for local concerns under distinct legislatures ; one in the com- 
munication of advantages, and of course in the participation of bur- 
dens. If their unity is broken, or rendered absolutely precarious, in 
either of these points, the system is defective, and there is an end of 
the whole. 

" The two capital points are, the construction of the Navigation Act, 
and the system of duties on the importation into either country of the 
manufactures of the other. With regard to the Navigation Act, it 
has been claimed by the advocates for Ireland as a matter of justice, 
on the ground that the same Act of Parliament must bear the same con- 
struction in its operation on Ireland as on Great Britain. Even on the 
narrow ground of mere construction, it may well be argued as at least 
doubtful whether the provisoes in the Act of 14 and 15 C. II. (by 
which it was in effect adopted by authority of the Irish Parliament) do 
not plainly do away that restriction on imports of colony produce from 
England to Ireland which is not done away by any proviso or otherwise 
with regard to the same importation from Ireland into England. On 
such a supposition it might be very consistent that the Act of Naviga- 
tion should be enforced here (as it was by subsequent Acts of Parlia- 
ment) in its original strictness, and in Ireland with those exceptions in 
favour of colony produce imported from hence which the provisoes I 
allude to seem to have admitted ; and the practice of more than a hun- 
dred years has been conformable to this distinction. 

" But this is on the mere point of construction. The question is, not 
merely what has been or ought to be the construction of the existing 
law, but what is really fair in the relative situation of the two countries. 
Here, I think, it is universally allowed, that, however just the claim of 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 257 

Ireland is not to have her own trade fettered and restricted, she can 
have no claim to any share beyond what we please to give her in the 
trade of our colonies. They belong (unless by favour or by compact we 
make it otherwise) exclusively to this country. The suffering Ireland to 
send anything to those colonies, or to bring anything directly from 
thence, is itself a favour ; and is a deviation, too, for the sake of favour 
to Ireland, from the general and almost uniform policy of all nations 
with regard to the trade of their colonies. But the present claim of 
Ireland has gone further : it is not merely to carry produce thither, or 
to bring it from thence, but it is to supply us, through Ireland, with the 
produce of our own colonies, in prejudice, as far as it goes, of the direct 
trade between those colonies and this country. Can it be said that 
Ireland has any right to have the liberty of thus carrying for us, because 
we have the liberty of carrying for them, unless the colonies with whom 
the trade subsists are as much their colonies as they are ours ? It may 
be true that the favour granted by former concessions in this respect is 
in some measure compensated by their securing in favour of our colonies 
a monopoly of their consumption ; though it may well be doubted 
whether on any possible supposition they could be supplied from the 
colonies of any other country on terms of similar indulgence. But the 
liberty to be now given stands on a separate ground, and is a mere and 
absolute favour, if ever there was anything that could be called so. It 
is a sacrifice, too, which cannot fail to be magnified here, even beyond 
its true value, as a departure from the principles of the Act of Navigation, 
which has been so long idolized in this country. 

" But what I principally state this for is to prove the liberal and con- 
ciliating spirit which induces us to agree to the proposal. I do not wish 
to exaggerate its probable effects. I do not expect that in practice it 
will materially interfere with the trade of this country ; but it is un- 
questionably true that, even though we should not immediately lose by 
it, yet Ireland will be considerably benefited, by opening so near a 
market, which will encourage her merchants to a freer speculation, and 
enable them to avail themselves more than they have hitherto done of 
the advantages they are already possessed of. Some persons here may, 
perhaps, even apprehend that the liberty of supplying our market may 
gradually enable them to lay in a stock for the supply of other markets 
also, which perhaps they could not do otherwise ; and if that should be 
the effect, not only they will be gainers, but we shall be losers in the 
same proportion. 

" On the whole, however, I am fully reconciled to the measure, because, 
even supposing it not to produce these effects, it must be remembered 
that it is a liberty which Ireland has strongly solicited, and on which 
she appears to set a high value. As such, it is the strongest proof of 

S 



258 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

cordiality to grant it, in spite of prevailing and perhaps formidable pre- 
judices ; and in truth it establishes in favour of Ireland so intimate a 
connexion and so equal a participation with this country, even in those 
points where we have the fullest right to exclusive advantage, that it 
gives them an interest in the protection of our colonies and the support 
of our trade equal in proportion to our own. 

" I come now to the system of duties between the two countries ; and 
here, too, I think Ireland has not less reason to be satisfied and to be 
grateful. By lowering our duties to the standard of Ireland, we put 
her in possession of absolute equality, on the face of the arrangement ; 
but I think in truth we put her in possession of something more. If, 
however, it were bare equality, we are departing, in order to effect it, 
from the policy of prohibiting duties so long established in this country. 
In doing so we are perhaps to encounter the prejudices of our manufac- 
turing [interest] in every corner of the kingdom. We are admitting to 
this competition a country whose labour is cheap, and whose resources 
are unexhausted ; ourselves burdened with accumulated taxes, which are 
felt in the price of every necessary of life, and of course enter into the 
cost of every article of manufacture. 

' ' It is, indeed, stated on the other hand, that Ireland has neither the skill, 
the industry, nor the capital of this country ; but it is difficult to assign any 
good reason why she should not gradually, with such strong encourage- 
ment, imitate and rival us in both the former, and in both more rapidly 
from time as she grows possessed of a large capital, which, with all the 
temptations for it, may perhaps to some degree be transferred to her 
from hence, but which will, at all events, be increased, if her commerce 
receives any extension, and will as it increases necessarily extend that 
commerce still farther. 

11 But there is another important consideration which makes the system 
of duties more favourable to Ireland than she could expect on the ground 
of perfect equality. It is this : although the duties taken separately on 
the importation of each article will be the same in the two countries, it 
is to be remembered that there are some articles which may pass from 
one to the other perfectly free ; consequently, if the articles which in 
the actual state of the trade we are able to send to Ireland are those 
which pay some duty, if the articles which she principally sends to us 
are articles which pay no duty, can anything be plainer than that, 
although upon each article taken separately there is an appearance of 
impartiality and equality, the result of the whole is manifestly to a great 
degree more favourable to Ireland than to this country ? 

" The case I have just stated will actually exist with regard to the 
woollen and linen trades. We send you a considerable quantity of 
woollen, subject to some duty ; you send us linen to an immense amount, 



AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 259 

subject to none. This single circumstance of the linen would have been 
a fair and full answer (even without any reduction of duties on the 
import of other articles) to the clamour for protecting duties. The 
whole amount of the British manufacture which Ireland actually takes 
from England, under a low duty, and on which she has threatened pro- 
hibitory duties, does not amount to so much as the single article of 
linen, which we are content to take from you, under no duty at all. I 
have stated all this to show that this part of the arrangement is in the 
same spirit with the other. 

" What is it, then, that can reconcile this country to such concessions 
under these circumstances ? It is perhaps true that with regard to some 
of the articles of manufacture there are particular considerations which 
make the danger to us less than it might be imagined. In the great 
article of the woollen, if we confine the raw material to ourselves, and 
let Ireland do the same, perhaps the produce of Ireland, and what she 
can import from other places, can never enable her to supplant us to a 
great extent in this article. This undoubtedly must be our policy, and 
it makes part of the resolutions proposed : it can never, in my opinion, 
be thought any exception to the general freedom of trade ; nor do I 
believe any man could seriously entertain any expectation of the con- 
trary line being adopted. If each country is at liberty to make the 
most of its own natural advantages, it could not be supposed that we 
should part with a material indispensable to our staple manufacture. If 
there is any other similar prohibition on the export of raw material 
now in force in Ireland, it would be equally fair that it should be 
continued; but, on the other hand, it is essential that no new one 
should be hereafter imposed in either country, as this part of the 
system should, like the rest, be finally settled, and not left open to 
future discussion. 

" But this consideration affects only the particular article of woollen. 
The fundamental principle, and the only one on which the whole plan 
can be justified, is that I mentioned in the beginning of my letter — that 
for the future the two countries will be to the most essential purposes 
united. On this ground the wealth and prosperity of the whole is the 
object ; from what local sources they arise is indifferent. We trust to 
various circumstances in believing that no branch of trade or manufacture 
will shift so suddenly as not to allow time, in every instance as it arises, 
for the industry of this country gradually to take another direction ; and 
confident that there will be markets sufficient to exercise the industry 
of both countries, to whatever pitch either can carry it, we are not 
afraid in this liberal view to encourage a competition which will ulti- 
mately prove for the common benefit of the empire, by giving to each 
country the possession of whatever branch of trade or article of manu- 

s 2 



260 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

facture it is best adapted to, and therefore likely to carry on with the 
most advantage. 

" These are the ideas I entertain of what we give to Ireland, and of 
the principles on which it is given. 

" The unavoidable consequence of these principles brings me back to 
that which I set out with — the indispensable necessity of some fixed 
mode of contribution on the part of Ireland, in proportion to her growing 
means, to the general defence. That in fact she ought to contribute in 
that proportion I have never heard any man question as a principle. 
Indeed without that expectation the conduct of this country would be 
an example of rashness and folly not to be paralleled. 

" But we are desired to content ourselves with the strongest general 
pledge that can be obtained of the intention of Ireland, without requir- 
ing anything specific at present. I must fairly say that such a measure 
neither can nor ought to give satisfaction. In the first place, it is 
making everything take place immediately on our part, and leaving 
everything uncertain on that of Ireland, which would render the whole 
system so lame and imperfect as to be totally indefensible. It would 
reserve this essential point as a perpetual source of jealous discussion, 
and that even in time of peace, when, with no objects to encourage 
exertion, men will be much more disposed to object than to give libe- 
rally ; and we should have nothing but a vague and perhaps a fallacious 
hope in answer to the clamours and apprehensions of all the descriptions 
of men who lose, or think they lose, by the arrangement. If it is indis- 
pensable, therefore, that the contribution should be in some degree 
ascertained at present, it is equally clear, on the other hand, that the quan- 
tum of it must not be fixed to any stated sum, which of necessity would 
either be too great at present, or in a little time hence too small. The 
only thing that seems reasonable is to appropriate a certain fund towards 
supporting the general expenses of the empire in time of peace, and 
leave it, as it must be left, to the zeal of Ireland to provide for extraor- 
dinary emergencies in time of war as they arise. The fund which seems 
the best, and indeed the only one that has been pointed out for this 
purpose, is the hereditary revenue. Though the effect will not be im- 
mediate, our object will be attained if the future surplus of this revenue 
beyond its present produce, estimated at the medium of the four or five 
last years, is applied in the manner we wish. 

" Such a fund, from the nature of the articles of which it is composed, 
must have a direct relation to the wealth, the commerce, and the popu- 
lation of Ireland. It will increase with their extension, and cannot even 
begin to exist without it. Towards this country it will be more accept- 
able than a much larger contribution in any other way, because, if in 
fact the commerce of Ireland should be increased at our expense by our 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 2G1 

manufactures and trade being transferred in any degree thither, the 
compensation will arise in the same proportion. It has this further in- 
estimable advantage, from being fixed according to a standard which will 
apply to all the future circumstances of the two countries, that it will, 
from the very permanence of the principle, tend to unite them more 
closely and firmly to each other. 

" In Ireland it cannot escape consideration that this is a contribution 
not given beforehand for uncertain expectations, but which can only 
follow the actual possession and enjoyment of the benefits in return for 
which it is given. If Ireland does not grow richer and more populous, 
she will by this scheme contribute nothing. If she does grow richer by 
the participation of our trade, surely she ought to contribute, and the 
measure of that contribution cannot, with equal justice, be fixed in any 
other proportion. It can never be contended that the increase of the 
hereditary revenue ought to be left to Ireland as the means of gra- 
dually diminishing her other taxes, unless it can be argued that the 
whole of what Ireland now pays is a greater burden in proportion than 
the whole of what is paid by this country, and that therefore she ought, 
even if she grows richer, rather to diminish that burden on herself than 
give anything towards lightening ours. 

" Indeed, if this were argued, it would be an argument, not against 
this particular mode of contributing, but against any contribution at alL 
For if Ireland were to contribute voluntarily from time to time at the 
discretion of her Parliament, it would, if the contribution were real and 
effectual, equally prevent any diminution of her own burdens, only the 
mode and the proportion would be neither so certain nor so satisfactory. 
It is to be remembered that the very increase supposed to arise in the 
hereditary revenue cannot arise without a similar increase in many 
articles of the additional taxes ; consequently, from that circumstance 
alone, though they part with the future increase of their hereditary 
revenue, their income will be upon the whole increased, without im- 
posing any additional burdens. On the whole, therefore, if Ireland 
allows that she ought ever in time of peace to contribute at all, on which 
it is impossible to frame a doubt, I can conceive no plausible objection 
to the particular mode proposed. 

" I recollect but two or three topics that have been suggested as 
likely to be urged by those who wish to create difficulties. 

" The first, if it applies at all, applies as an argument against any 
contribution of any sort. It is that the wealth of Ireland is brought by 
absentees to be spent in this country. In the first place, the amount of 
this is indefinite, and the idea, I believe, greatly overrated. What this 
country gains by it I am sure is small. The way in which it must be 
supposed to injure Ireland is, by diminishing the capital in the country, 



262 LETTERS BETWEEN ME. PITT 

and by obstructing civilization and improvement. If this is true, what 
follows ? That the effect of this, as far as it operates to prevent the 
increase of trade and riches, will prevent also the existence or the 
increase of the fund on which the contribution is to depend. Therefore 
this argument, giving it its utmost weight, does not affect the particular 
plan in question. Besides this, Ireland in its present state bears this 
evil, and under these circumstances supports her present burden. If 
she grows richer, will she not be able to support, out of that additional 
wealth, some addition of burden at least without any increase of hard- 
ship or difficulty ? But if Ireland states the wealth we are supposed to 
draw from her by absentees on one hand, we may state what she draws 
from us by commerce on the other. Look at the trade between Great 
Britain and Ireland, and see how large a proportion of what we take 
from her is the produce of her soil or the manufactures of her inhabitants, 
which are the great sources of national riches — how small compara- 
tively the proportion of similar articles which she takes from us. The 
consequence is obvious, that she is in this respect clearly more benefited 
than we are by the intercourse between us. 

" The other topic is, that it is impolitic and odious that this arrange- 
ment should have the appearance of a bargain, and such an idea will 
render it unpopular with the public. If a permanent system is to be 
settled by the authority of two distinct legislatures, I do not know what 
there is more odious in a bargain between them than in a treaty between 
two separate crowns. If the bargain is unfair, if the terms of it are not 
for mutual benefit, it is not calculated for the situation of two countries 
connected as Great Britain and Ireland ought to be. But it is of the 
essence of such a settlement (whatever name is to be given to it) that 
both the advantage and the obligation should be reciprocal ; one cannot 
be so without the other. This reciprocity, whether it is or is not to be 
called a bargain, is an inherent and necessary part of the new system to 
be established between the two countries. 

" In the relations of Great Britain with Ireland there can subsist but 
two possible principles of connexion. The one, that which is exploded, 
of total subordination in Ireland, and of restrictions on her commerce 
for the benefit of this country, which was by this means enabled to bear 
the whole burden of the empire ; the other is, what is now proposed 
to be confirmed and completed, that of an equal participation of all 
commercial advantages, and some proportion of the charge of protecting 
the general interest. If Ireland is at all connected with this country, 
and to remain a member of the empire, she must make her option be- 
tween these two principles, and she has wisely and justly made it for 
the latter. But if she does think this system for her advantage as well 
as ours, and if she sets any value either on the confirmation and security 



AND THE DUKE OF KUTLAND. 263 

of what has been given her, or on the possession of what is now within 
her reach, she can attain neither without performing on her part what 
both reason and justice entitle us to expect. 

" The only remaining consideration is, for what service this contri- 
bution shall be granted, and in what manner it shall be applied. This 
seems a question of little difficulty. The great advantage that Ireland 
will derive is, from the equal participation of our trade, and of the 
benefits derived from our colonies. Nothing, therefore, is so natural as 
that she should contribute to the support of the navy, on which the 
protection of both depends. For the rest, it seems only necessary to 
provide some proper mode of ascertaining to the Parliament of Ireland 
that the surplus is annually paid over, to be applied together with other 
moneys voted here for naval services, and to be accounted for, together 
with them, to the Parliament of this country. There can be but one 
navy for the empire at large, and it must be administered by the execu- 
tive power in this country. The particulars of the administration of it 
cannot be under the control of anything but the Parliament of this 
country. This principle, on the fullest consideration, seems one which 
must be held sacred. Nothing else can also prevent the supreme exe- 
cutive power, and with it the force of the empire, being distracted into 
different channels, and its energy and effect being consequently lost. 
As the sum to be received in this manner from Ireland can never be 
more than a part (I fear a small one) of the whole naval expense, as its 
amount from time to time will be notorious, and as it will go in diminu- 
tion of the supplies to be granted here, the Parliament of this country 
will have both the means and the inducement to watch its expenditure 
as narrowly as if it was granted by themselves. Ireland, therefore, will 
have the same security that we have against any misapplication, and she 
will have the less reason to be jealous on the subject, because we have 
a common interest with her, and to a still greater extent, in the service 
which it is intended to support ; and if any deficiency arises from mis- 
management, it will, according to this arrangement, fall, not upon them, 
but upon us, to make it good. 

" I have no more to add. I have troubled you with all this from an 
extreme anxiety to put you in possession of all that occurs to me on one 
of the most interesting subjects that can occupy our attention in the 
course of our lives. You will, I am sure, forgive my wearying you with 
so much detail. I release you from it, in the persuasion that you will 
feel how much depends upon this crisis for both countries, and in the 
certainty that your exertions and those of your friends will be propor- 
tioned to its importance. I will only add that difficulties may be started 
at first, but I think they must vanish on discussion. At all events, be- 
lieve me, my dear Duke, it is indispensable to us all, and to the public, 



264 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

that they should be overcome. By address and dexterity in the manage- 
ment of the business, and, above all, by firmness and a resolution to 
succeed, I have no doubt that it will be found both possible and easy. 
I shall then have to congratulate you on your having the happiness to 
accomplish a scheme which may lay the foundation of lasting tranquillity 
and reviving prosperity to both countries. 

" I am ever, with constant affection and attachment, 

" My dear Duke, 
" Your faithful and sincere friend, 

" W. Pitt. 
"Downing Street, Friday, Jan. 7, 1785, 

" I past 12, p.m. 
" I need hardly tell you that I am obliged to send you these sheets 
as they are, without the leisure either to copy or revise them." 

The commercial propositions, as is well known, did not prosper 
in the Irish parliament. On the 4th of July, 1785, the Duke 
of Rutland reports — 

" 1 have seen Mr. Grattan, but found him impracticable in a degree 
scarcely credible. I desired to be apprised of his objections, and stated 
my reliance on your disposition to modify, as far as candour could 
require, those parts which were deemed exceptionable in Ireland ; but 
his ideas of objection were such as to render them impossible to be 
obviated. He said that he could admit nothing which intrenched on 
old settlements ; that it seemed an attempt to resume in peace conces- 
sions granted in war ; that rendering the fourth proposition conditional 
was of but little avail ; that everything should be left to national faith, 
and nothing covenanted." 

But the final blow, it will be seen, was struck in the month of 
August. 

" The Duke of Rutland to Mr. Pitt. 

" Dublin Castle, August 13, 1785. 

" My dear Pitt, — I am most extremely concerned to inform you that, 
after a tedious debate, which continued till past nine in the morning, the 
House came to a division, when the numbers for admitting the bill were 
127 to 108. You may well imagine that so small a majority as nineteen 
on so strong a question as the admission of the bill affords no great hopes 
as to the ultimate fate of the measure. It will be an effort of our united 
strength to get the bill printed, that at least it may remain as a monument 
of the liberality of Great Britain, and of my desires to promote a system 
which promises such essential advantage to the empire. All my influence 
must likewise be exerted on Monday to defeat a motion from Mr. Flood, 



AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 265 

to the purpose of declaring ' the four propositions, as passed in the Par- 
liament of Great Britain, as destructive of the liberties and constitution 
of Ireland/ Such a declaration is of a nature too hostile to be endured 
for a moment. 

" The speech of Mr. Grattan was, I understand, a display of the 
most beautiful eloquence perhaps ever heard, but it was seditious and 
inflammatory to a degree hardly credible. The theory and positions 
laid down both in his speech and that of Mr. Flood amounted to nothing 
less than war with England. This was distinctly told him in so many 
words by Mr. Pole.* The Attorney-General f supported me in the 
most honourable and manly manner, and has committed himself without 
reserve. Our only line left is to force, if possible, the bill to be read, 
and then to adjourn, that men may have time to return to their senses. 

" It grieves me to think that a system which held out so much advan- 
tage to the empire, and which was so fair between the two countries, 
should meet a fate so contrary to its deserts ; and I may say Ireland will 
have reason to repent her folly if she persists in a conduct so dangerous, 
so destructive of her true interest, and repugnant to every principle of 
connexion between herself and Great Britain. 

" I have only to add that I still do not absolutely despond ; but, be 
the event what it may, no alteration shall take place in my determina- 
tion : I will never think of quitting my station while I can render an 
iota of strength to your government or to the great cause in which we 
are embarked. I will write more fully after Monday. I was up all 
last night, and am quite worn out. 

" Believe me to be ever yours, 

" Rutland." 

We will add Mr. Pitt's reply :— 

" Mr. Pitt to the Duke of Rutland. 

" Putney Heath, Aug. 17, 1785. 
" My dear Duke, — I confess myself not a little disappointed and 
hurt in the account brought me to-day by your letter and Mr. Orde's 
of the event of Friday. I had hoped that neither prejudice nor party 
could on such an occasion have made so many proselytes against the 
true interests of the country ; but the die seems in a great measure to 
be cast, at least for the present. Whatever it leads to, we have the 
satisfaction of having proposed a system which, I believe, will not be 
discredited even by its failure, and we must wait times and seasons for 
carrying it into effect. 



* Now Lord Maryborough. 

•j- The Attorney-General for Ireland was then the Eight Hon. John Fitz- 
gibbon, afterwards Lord Chancellor and Earl of Clare. 



266 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

" I think you judge most wisely in making it your plan to give the 
interval of a long adjournment as soon as the bill has been read and 
printed. With so doubtful a majority, and with so much industry to 
raise a spirit of opposition without doors, this is not the moment for 
pressing farther. It will remain to be seen whether, by showing a firm 
and unalterable decision to abide by the system in its present shape, and 
by exerting every effort both to instruct and to influence the country at 
large into a just opinion of the advantages held out to them, a favour- 
able change may be produced in the general current of opinion before 
the time comes for resuming the consideration of the bill. 

'■' I am not at all sanguine in my expectations of your division on the 
intended motion on Monday last. Though an Opposition frequently 
loses its advantage by attempting to push it too far, yet on such a ques- 
tion, and with the encouragement of so much success, I rather conclude 
that absurdity and faction will have gained a second triumph ; but I am 
very far from thinking it impossible that reflection and discussion may 
operate a great change before the time which your Parliament will pro- 
bably meet after the adjournment. I very much wish you may at least 
have been just able to ward off Flood's motion, lest its standing on the 
journals should be an obstacle to farther proceedings at a happier mo- 
ment. It is still almost incomprehensible to me who can have been the 
deserters who reduced our force so low, and I wait with great impa- 
tience for a more particular account. 

" All I have to say, in the mean time, is very short: let us meet 
what has happened, or whatever may happen, with the coolness and 
determination of persons who may be defeated, but cannot be disgraced, 
and who know that those who obstruct them are greater sufferers than 
themselves. You have only to preserve the same spirit and temper you 
have shown throughout in the remainder of this difficult scene. Your 
own credit and fame will be safe, as well as that of your friends. I wish 
I could say the same of the country you have been labouring to serve. 
Our cause is on too firm a rock here to be materially shaken, even for a 
time, by this disappointment ; and when the experience of this fact has 
produced a little more wisdom in Ireland, I believe the time will yet 
come when we shall see all our views realized in both countries, and for 
the advantage of both. It may be sooner or later, as accident, or per- 
haps (for some time) malice, may direct ; but it will be right at last. 
We must spare no human exertion to bring forward the moment as early 
as possible ; but we must be prepared also to wait for it on one uniform 
and resolute ground, be it ever so late. 

" It will be no small consolation to you, in the doubtful state of this 
one important object, that every other part of the public scene affords 
the most encouraging and animating prospect 5 and you have, above all, 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 267 

the satisfaction of knowing- that your government has made a more 
vigorous effort, whatever be its ultimate success, than I believe any- 
other period of Irish history will produce, since the present train of 
government has been established. I write this as the first result of my 
feelings, and I write it to yourself alone. 

" Believe me ever 
" Your most affectionate and faithful friend, 

"W. Pitt." 

In the extracts we have given relative to the commercial pro- 
positions there is one passage which at first sight may have 
excited the reader's surprise — where Mr. Pitt so emphatically 
declares his resolution " to exclude the Catholics from any share 
in the representation or the government." Strong expressions 
from the same minister who, in 1801, resigned office on finding 
his Royal Master refuse to concede the Roman Catholic claims ! 
The words of the letter may, we say, have excited surprise at 
first sight — but at first sight only ; for on examination it will be 
found that the principles of Mr. Pitt, on both occasions, were 
perfectly uniform and constant. He held, that so long as Ireland 
was a separate kingdom, with a Parliament of its own, so long 
the Roman Catholics, forming a majority of the population, 
could not, with safety to the Established Church and Constitution, 
be admitted to a share — since their share would then be a large 
preponderance — in the representation : but that if the two nations 
were blended and mingled together by a legislative union, then 
the Roman Catholics, becoming only a minority of the popula- 
tion of the whole empire, might without danger be admitted to 
equal privileges. Such are the principles laid down by Mr. Pitt 
himself in the letter to the King, which is dated January 31, 
1801, and which, in 1827, was first made public by Lord Ken- 
yon.* We have no thoughts of here inflicting upon our readers 
any renewed discussion on the momentous question of the Roman 
Catholic claims ; we are at present only concerned in showing 
that, whether Mr. Pitt's views upon this question be considered 
wise or unwise, salutary or pernicious, they were exactly the 
same in 1786 as in 1801, and were alike pursued with lofty 
firmness. For their sake he was equally ready in the first 

* See Quart. Rev., vol. xxxvi. p. 290. Annual Register, 1827, vol. ii. 
p. 472. 



268 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 

year to hazard popularity, and in the latter year to sacrifice 
power. 

, We cannot leave the subject of Ireland without doing justice 
to the character and conduct of the Duke of Rutland.* Through- 
out this correspondence he appears to very great advantage, com- 
bining a frank and cordial spirit, and a delicate sense of honour, 
with good judgment, prudence, and vigilant attention to his 
duties. In reference to the very subject which we touched upon 
just now — the Irish Union — a prediction which he makes on the 
16th of June, 1784, indicates surely no common degree of fore- 
sight and sagacity. He is speaking of the Irish volunteers : — 

" The volunteer corps were reviewed in the Phoenix Park about a 
fortnight since. Their numbers were much diminished from the former 
year, in spite of all the exertions made use of to alarm and irritate ; so 
that I am in hopes this self-appointed army may fall to the ground 
without the interposition of Government, which would prove a most 
fortunate circumstance. If some such event should not have effect, the 
period cannot be far distant when they must be spoken to in a peremp~ 
tory and decisive manner. For the existence of a government is very 
precarious while an armed force, independent of and unconnected with 
the state, for the purpose of awing the legislature into all its wild and 
visionary schemes, is permitted to endure. The northern newspapers 
take notice of an intention in some of the corps to address the French 
King, and which they recommend as a very proper and spirited mea- 
sure. No meeting for such a laudable purpose has yet taken place. I 
can scarcely believe it, though the madness of some of these armed 
legislators might go to anything. Were I to indulge a distant specula- 
tion, I should say that, without an union, Ireland will not be connected 
with Great Britain in twenty years longer." 

Irish subjects are not the only ones treated in this correspond- 
ence—there are also frequent and interesting touches of English 
politics. We will give from Mr. Pitt's letters three extracts 
referring to these at three very different periods. The first when 
he and the Duke of Rutland were battling together in opposition, 
but with the prospect of power close before them ; the second 

* We may be pardoned for recalling to our readers the amiable impression 
of his Grace's private life and manners derived from the Memoirs of his 
much-respected protege, Mr. Crabbe, who, on Mr. Burke's recommendation, 
became domestic chaplain at Belvoir Castle in 1782, and owed all his later 
preferments to the kindness of the House of Rutland. 



AND THE DUKE OF EUTLAND. 269 

when Mr. Pitt, in power, had yet to struggle against an adverse 
and exasperated majority of the House of Commons ; the third 
when Mr. Pitt, after appealing to the people, again met the 
House of Commons, and found himself as strong in parliamentary 
as in popular support. 

The first is dated November 22, 1783 :— 

" We are in the midst of contest, and I think approaching to a crisis. 
The bill which Fox has brought in relative to India will be, one way 
or other, decisive for or against the Coalition. It is, I really think, the 
boldest and most unconstitutional measure ever attempted, transferring 
at one stroke, in spite of all charters and compacts, the immense patron- 
age and influence of the East to Charles Fox, in or out of office. I 
think it will with difficulty, if at all, find its way through our House, 
and can never succeed in yours. Ministry trust all on this one die, and 
will probably fail. They have hurried on the bill so fast that we are to 
have the second reading on Thursday next, Nov. 27th. I think we 
shall be strong on that day, but much stronger in the subsequent stages. 
If you have any member within fifty or a hundred miles of you, who 
cares for the constitution or the country, pray send him to the House of 
Commons as quick as you can. I trust you see that this bill will not 
easily reach the House of Lords ; but I must tell you that Ministry 
flatter themselves with carrying it through before Christmas." 

The second is of March 23, 1784 :— 

" The interesting circumstances of the present moment, though they 
are a double reason for my writing to you, hardly leave me the time to 
do it. Per tot discrimina rerum, we are at length arrived within sight 
of a dissolution. The Bill to continue the powers of regulating the inter- 
course with America to the 20th of June will pass the House of Lords 
to-day. That and the Mutiny Bill will receive the Royal Assent to- 
morrow, and the King will then make a short speech and dissolve the 
Parliament. Our calculations for the new elections are very favourable, 
and the spirit of the people seems still progressive in our favour. The 
new Parliament may meet about the 15th or 16th of May, and I hope 
we may so employ the interval as to have all the necessary business 
rapidly brought on, and make the session a short one." 

The 24th of the following May is the date of our third ex- 
tract : — 

" I cannot let the messenger go without congratulating you on the 
prospect confirmed to us by the opening of the session. Our first battle 
was previous to the address, on the subject of the return for Westminster. 
The enemy chose to put themselves on bad ground, by moving that two 



270 LETTERS BETWEEN MR. PITT 



members ought to have been returned, without first hearing the High- 
Bailiff to explain the reasons of his conduct. We beat them on this, by 
283 to 136. The High-Bailiff is to attend to-day, and it will depend 
upon the circumstances stated whether he will be ordered to proceed in 
the scrutiny, or immediately to make a double return, which will bring 
the question before a committee. In either case I have no doubt of 
Fox being thrown out, though in either there may be great delay, in- 
convenience, and expense, and the choice of the alternative is delicate. 
We afterwards proceeded to the address, in which nothing was objected 
to but the thanking the King expressly for the dissolution. Opposition 
argued everything weakly, and had the appearance of a vanquished 
party, which appeared still more in the division, when the numbers 
were 282 to 114. We can have little doubt that the progress of the 
session will furnish throughout a happy contrast to the last. We have 
indeed nothing to contend with but the heat of the weather and the 
delicacy of some of the subjects which must be brought forward." 

We close this volume with the earnest hope that it may not be 
the only one of its class to come before us. Every succeeding 
day, as it bears us further from the era of Pitt and Fox, removes 
more and more of the few who yet lingered amongst us, the con- 
temporaries and friends of those illustrious men. Only last year 
we saw depart the sole surviving cabinet colleague of Pitt in his 
first administration;* only last month the devoted widow of Fox. 
But Time should not all destroy ; and while, on the one hand, it 
breaks the remaining links of living affection, so, on the other 
hand, it should cast aside the ties of official reserve — it should 
unlock the most secret scrutoire — it should draw forth the most 
hoarded papers. The words " private " and " most private " on 
the cover need be no longer spells to restrain us. We may now, 
without any breach of public duty — without any wound to per- 
sonal feelings — explore the hidden thoughts, the inward workings 
of those two great minds which stood arrayed against each other 
durincr twenty-three stormy and eventful years. We may 
trace them in their boyhood, and inquire whether it was in part 
through careful training, or all by their endowments at birth, 
that each of them inherited his father's gift of genius — that 
rarest of all gifts to inherit from a parent — as if, according to 
the fine thought of Dante, the Great Giver had willed to show 
that it proceeds from himself alone : — 

* The Earl of Westmoreland died December 12, 1841. 



AND THE DUKE OF RUTLAND. 271 

" Rade volte risurge per li rami 
L' umana probitade, e questo vuole 
Quei che la da, perche da lui si chiami." * 

We may, perhaps, by the journal of some secretary or some 
trusted friend, pursue them in their country retirement, and their 
familiar conversation. We may walk by the side of Pitt along 
the avenue that he planted at Holwood, or sit with Fox beneath 
the wide-spreading cedar at St. Anne's. We may see the blotted 
notes from whence grew the elaborate oration still perused with 
delight ; we may trace in some hasty sketch the germ of some 
great enactment by which we continue to be ruled. We may 
follow the rival statesmen in their far divergent paths through 
life, until their final resting-place, under the same stately roof, 
and within a few paces of each other : and thus, while such stores 
of information as the present volume supplies come gradually to 
light, both Pitt and Fox will no doubt become far better known 
to the present generation than they could be to the great mass of 
those amongst whom their own life was cast. 

* Purgat., lib. vii., verse 121. 



272 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

[Qu. Rev., No. 97. April, 1833.] ^f 1 « 

The following pages were the ground-work of the 8th Article of the 
97th Number of the ' Quarterly Review.' But having there been incor- 
porated with observations, in several of which the writer of the first does not 
concur, he thinks proper to print his own as he originally wrote them. 
April, 1833. 

In this Essay, which was written in 1832, and published in the spring of 
1833 with the foregoing announcement, there was comprised much minute 
criticism on Lord John Russell's work, questioning his Lordship's accuracy 
on several points, though of small moment, in the French literature and 
language. All these remarks are now omitted. Whatever temporary interest 
they may ever have possessed must be considered as having passed away. 
Nor would their republication be consistent with the sincere respect felt even 
by a political opponent for the great ability which Lord John Russell has 
since displayed in public life, and for the high position which he at present 
fills. 

November, 1848. 

1. Causes of the French Revolution. London, 1832. 

2. Essay on Dumonfs Souvenirs sur Mirabeau. Edinburgh Review, No. 110. 

The first work of which the title is here transcribed is generally 
believed to be the production of Lord John Eussell. Some years 
ago his Lordship undertook some historical ' Memoirs of the 
Affairs of Europe since the Peace of Utrecht,' and of these he 
had already given two quarto volumes to the world. Being now, 
however, diverted from the prosecution of his task by his con- 
struction of the Eeform Bill, and other political labours, he 
appears to have selected from his papers, for separate publication, 
some reflections on the most momentous revolution of modern times. 
Of the second work which we have named, Mr. Macaulay, 
we understand, avows himself the author. It appeared last autumn 
in a contemporary journal. As such, it would seem at first to 
be no fit object for our animadversions. To review a review is 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 273 



directly contrary to the laws of literary etiquette. But besides 
that in these reforming times we might justly plead the example 
of our betters for disregarding laws and precedents, we consider 
the article in question not so much a review of M. Dumont, as 
an essay on the French Revolution ; and we are desirous of exa- 
mining conjointly the opinions of two members of the same 
administration on the same great political event. 

The essay of our noble Paymaster is pleasantly written, lively, 
and amusing ; full of gossip and chit-chat, and carefully record- 
ing the current jests of the day. To such works as these we 
have no objection to make, as agreeable, nay, even in many cases 
as profitable reading, provided only that their titles do not lead us 
to form a different expectation of them. Now the words ' Causes 
of the French Revolution,' on the opening page, seem to indi- 
cate a much graver, or, if you will, a duller work, since they hold 
out, we think, a promise of many far-sighted views and statesman- 
like reflections. These, however, are scarcely to be found at 
all, and certainly do not predominate, in the essay now before 
us. In the first place, these ' Causes of the French Revo- 
lution ' extend no further than the death of Louis XV. The 
two first chapters contain a just, but very high-coloured descrip- 
tion of the misgovernment during the latter years of that 
monarch. But they contain no attempt to prove that such mis- 
government existed either before or since. The third chapter 
(twice as long as the other two together) gives us an account 
of the lives and personal adventures of the principal writers 
of that period, and more especially Voltaire and Rousseau, 
No less than three dinners are minutely described in different 
passages. The first, we are told, comprised " good brown bread, 
made entirely of wheat ;" " a ham that looked very tempting ;" 
" a bottle of wine, the sight of which rejoiced the heart," and 
" a large omelette." The next, seventy pages afterwards, con- 
sists of "juicy vegetables and mutton of the valley, admirably 
roasted." Of the third dinner the dishes are not recorded, but 
we are told that it began between five and six ; that it lasted 
nearly two hours, and was followed by " different children's games, 
and especially the Royal game of goose !" Surely such details, 
however curious or desirable, and however aptly introduced 
in mere sketches of biography, cannot be considered to form, 

T 



274 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



or even to harmonise with, tAe * Causes of the French Revo- 
lution.' 

The text of Mr. Macaulay's discourse — we mean the ' Souvenirs 
sur Mirabeau' of M. Dumont — is, we think, the ablest and most 
important work that has yet appeared on the first stages of the 
French Revolution. We have lately read it a second time with 
attention. It has very much altered our previous opinions as to 
the abilities both of its author and of its object. It has made us 
think far better of Dumont' s — it has made us think far worse of 
Mirabeau's. We had hitherto looked upon M. Dumont as hardly- 
soaring above the tribe of commentators and translators— as another 
Boswell — content to pass his life in expounding what, notwithstand- 
ing the skill of the expositor, we must still be allowed to consider 
the gibberish of Mr. Bentham. We also considered M. Dumont 
as a man who had studied legislative bodies in theory rather than 
in practice, and had never really watched the secret workings of 
those great political machines. In both respects we have been 
undeceived by his last volume. It proves that his original powers 
of thinking were of the highest order, and made him as far 
superior to Boswell, as Dr. Johnson is superior to Mr. Bentham. 
It displays at the same time that sensitive and shrinking disposition, 
often attendant on real genius, which left him nearly indifferent 
to personal fame or distinction, and ready to give out his own 
ideas under the sanction of some other more aspiring name. His 
characters of Mirabeau and the other leading men of the French 
Revolution are drawn with the hand of a master, and disfigured 
neither by flattery nor satire. His views of that Revolution 
itself deserve still deeper attention. Above all, we must express 
our feelings of gratification at the justice which this eminent and 
clear-sighted writer has done to another writer still much more 
eminent and clear-sighted than himself — to one of the brightest 
names in the bright annals of this country — to Edmund Burke. 
He is far from being an unqualified admirer of Mr. Burke's 
Letters on the French Revolution ; he charges them with exag- 
geration and party tone, and at the time he even wrote a reply 
to them. Yet he owns, that " by directing the attention of 
governments and of men of property to the dangers of this new 
political religion, Mr. Burke was probably the saviour oi 
Europe !" 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 275 

Of Mirabeau himself we had always conceived that he must 
have been distinguished for powers of extemporaneous speaking 
and readiness of reply. It was to this that we ascribed his 
ascendancy over those six hundred schoolboy declaimers and 
shallow theorists called the National Assembly. It appears, on 
the contrary, that he could do nothing without previous prepara- 
tion. His speeches were composed for him at home by dependents 
or friends, whom he had skilfully enlisted into his service, and he 
himself only gave them a few finishing and masterly touches. 
Dumont, one of his principal assistants, compares him to the jay 
with borrowed plumage in the fable. Any objections raised 
against his premeditated bursts of oratory used to disconcert 
him, and he commonly contrived to obtain an adjournment before 
his reply. It is true, that he sometimes shot forth at the moment 
expressive nicknames never afterwards forgotten ; or some single 
sentence — like that at the Jeu de Paume — which struck every 
ear as a thunderbolt, and passed into every mouth as a proverb. 
But such brilliant flashes, elicited by the collisions of party, 
belong rather to the talents of conversation than to those of 
oratory, and are epigrams, not speeches. 

With every deduction, however, Mirabeau must have been a 
man of wonderful genius. As an extemporaneous orator he may, 
perhaps, be ranked low ; but in the aim and object of all oratory — 
leading the minds of others — he stood pre-eminent. If his plumage 
was borrowed, none at least knew better how to raise his flight 
and how to poise his wings. He had to elevate himself from 
the lowest depths. His private character was infamous. He was 
considered a low political hireling, so base, as to be always ready 
to betray his own party— so worthless, that he could seldom be 
of use to any other. The first announcement of his name in the 
National Assembly was received, says Dumont, with murmurs 
and hootings. A few months pass, and we find him the chief, 
the sovereign, the idol, of those very men who had been ashamed 
to admit him as their colleague. We find him become a sort of 
third power in the state ; we find him standing forth — in himself 
a personification of a whole house of peers — as a barrier between 
the Crown and the People, and a security to both. At that 
period, he might be hailed the arbiter of France ; and, as Dumont 
truly observes, he is the only man to whom we can do the honour 

t2 



276 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

of believing, that, had he lived, the torrent of the Revolution 
might yet have been arrested. 

The observations of M. Dumont are the best answer to the 
theories of Lord John Russell and Mr. Macaulay, and point out 
the true causes of that terrible tragedy — the French Revolution. 
We believe that many of those causes which are frequently 
ascribed, however plausible in theory, are not really founded on 
fact. Thus we find Lord John Russell, not indeed attempt to 
prove, but assume as proved, that the French Revolution was 
only the natural consequence of corruption and oppression in the 
higher classes — that public indignation had gradually gathered 
against a century of Royal despotism and aristocratical abuses, 
and at length broke forth in a defensive movement against them. 
Now all this we consider utterly opposed to contemporary 
evidence. It is very easy at present to cull out from the eventful 
annals of a century all the bad men or bad actions, to mould 
them into one mass of iniquity, and to blazon them forth as a 
heavy catalogue of grievances. It is very easy to say, that the 
French people in 1789 resented the pride of Louis XIV. or the 
profligacy of Louis XV. The real fact we believe to be, that the 
French people at that period were not even aware of half the acts 
of injustice which are now alleged as the motive and the excuse for 
their excesses. Wrongs are keenly felt, but not long remembered, 
by the multitude. Still less does one generation ever rise up to 
avenge the injuries of another. The people of Paris (we say 
Paris, for the rest of France until stirred from thence had com- 
paratively little to do with the French Revolution) were impelled 
in 1789 by new theories rather than old grievances — by a jealousy 
of the kingly power, much more than by oppression under it. 

We are not defending the government of the old French 
monarchy. Under Louis XIV. and Louis XV. it was little 
short of despotism. But still it must be borne in mind, that till 
the latter part of the latter reign this government was in accord- 
ance with the feelings and wishes of the nation. There was no 
demand for the States-General, still less for any new popular 
privileges. Exhausted with civil strife and bloodshed, the people 
gladly sought repose under the quiet shade of despotism. It is a 
common but a great mistake in modern political writers, to con- 
sider a government with reference, not to the public feelings of 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 277 

its own time, but to the public feelings of ours. We know des- 
potic power to be odious in France at present ; we are, therefore, 
apt to conclude that the despotic reign of Louis XIV. must have 
deeply galled the French people. But was this the real fact ? 
Look to the language of all the eminent writers of that Augustan 
era — their language, not merely in their public and avowed com- 
positions, which might be influenced by fear or flattery, but in 
their private and unguarded letters which have more lately 
come to light. They all speak of the arbitrary power of the 
King as of his undoubted privilege — they consider it a thing of 
course — they have no idea of sharing it — they say little of prac- 
tical grievances, and nothing of the freedom of their forefathers 
or the abstract rights of men. Far from dreaming of resistance, 
these leaders of the public mind never even dreamt of murmurs. 
No one, we believe, can have looked attentively at the literature 
of those times without being greatly struck at the submissive 
feeling we have mentioned. The truth is, that the nation at that 
time connected their own greatness and glory with that of the 
King, and in exalting Le Grand Monarque, believed that they 
were exalting themselves. Even the Parliaments, in their noble 
struggles against despotic registrations and Beds of Justice, had 
not always, nor strongly, the national feeling on their side. The 
same feeling continued through a great part of the reign of 
Louis XV. Lord Chesterfield, a keen observer surely, and one 
of the few who, at a later period, foresaw and foretold the Revo- 
lution, remarks, that a French soldier will venture his life with 
alacrity pour Vhonneur du Hoi ; but that if you were to change 
the object, and propose to him le Men de la patrie, he would 
probably run away.* And this might be true at that time. Thus 
also when, in 1744, the illness of Louis at Metz was considered 
desperate, the public grief was so excessive and so evident, that 
the surname of Bien-aime was universally and not unjustly ascribed 
to him. Happy had it been for him had he then died with the 
tears of the people on his memory, instead of being, a few years 
afterwards, followed by their hootings and curses to his grave ! 
But with him, as once with Pompey, 

" mcestae urbes et publica vota 
Vicerunt." 

* Letter to his son, February 7, 1749. 



278 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



He lived to bow under the yoke of the Due d'Aiguillon 
and Madame du Barri — he lived to make his surname of Bien- 
aime a byword and jest on a hated tyrant — he lived to bequeath 
to his successor an inheritance of danger and shame. But 
though his later years had raised up in France a new spirit of 
irritation against the kingly power, that feeling, had it stood 
alone, must quickly have yielded to the private worth and public 
disinterestedness of Louis XVI. That monarch was ready, at the 
slightest call, to strip his Crown of some of its most valuable pre- 
rogatives. He was more anxious to be a limited sovereign than 
his subjects were anxious to be a free people. "While, therefore, 
we admit and condemn the despotism of the old monarchy, we 
do not believe that either the burthen or the recollection of this 
despotism are to be ranked among the great and efficient causes 
of the Revolution. 

Nor is it true that during the whole reign of Louis XV. the 
people were in a state of progressive and increasing wretched- 
ness. During the first half of it we believe that the very reverse 
was the case. On this point we will quote the testimony of that 
most acute observer, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. One of 
her letters from Paris in 1718 (Oct. 10), in giving an account of 
her journey from Lyons, describes the " miserable starved faces 
and thin tattered clothes" of the peasantry. Twenty years 
afterwards she travelled over the same road again. In a letter to 
her husband from Dijon, August 18, 1739, we find, " France is 
so much improved, it would not be known to be the same country 

we passed through twenty years ago The roads are all 

mended The French are more changed than their roads : 

instead of pale yellow faces, wrapped up in blankets, as we saw 
them, the villages are all filled with fresh-coloured lusty peasants, 
in good clothes and clean linen. It is incredible what an air of 
plenty and content is over the whole country." 

Still less can we assent to the sweeping charge of degeneracy 
and corruption which Lord John Russell brings forward against 
the nobility, the clergy, and the magistracy of France at that 
period. The two former were very numerous bodies, and as such 
comprised, of course, many worthless men. But these were 
well known as objects of the public reprobation, and in the latter 
years of Louis XV. as objects of the Royal favour, whilst the 



THE FEENCH REVOLUTION. 279 



unobtrusive virtues and retired lives of the greater number 
excited no especial attention. It is well observed by the author 
of ' Emile,' that we compute the worshippers of Baal, but take 
no note of the thousands who have never bowed down before the 
brazen image. We have seen the real qualities of the French 
nobility and clergy tried by the severest and truest of all tests — 
adversity. We have seen them during the Revolution dragged to 
the scaffold as victims, or thrust from their homes as beggars. 
They had to feel (in the words of another illustrious and heart- 
broken exile) — 

" Come sa di sale 
II pane altrui, e com' e duro calle 
Lo scendere e '1 salir per P altrui scale." * 

In all these trials, what high-minded patience, what unconquer- 
able spirit, were theirs ! How heroically did they encounter an 
ignominious death, how still more heroically did they bear a life 
of poverty and pain ! Even the women, when the brutal fury of 
the Jacobins showed no mercy to their sex, seemed to soar above 
its weakness. Only one lady is recorded to have shrunk or shown 
any terror on the scaffold, and that lady was Madame du Barri ! 
Surely those who died so well cannot have lived so ill. But even 
before this dire extremity, how many amongst the higher orders, 
so far from deserving the reproach of obstinate resistance, seem 
rather to incur the opposite blame of too rash concessions, of too 
devoted personal sacrifices ! A Montmorency proposing the 
abolition of hereditary rank ! A Noailles proposing the abolition 
of seignorial rights ! Are these, and such as these, the witnesses 
to the selfish and uncompromising spirit which Lord John Russell 
ascribes to the old nobility of France ? Nor were many of the 
Bishops less remarkable for self-devotion. An affecting account 
of one of them is given by M. Dumont. 

" The Bishop of Chartres was attached to the popular party, and had 
voted for the new Constitution. He was by no means a practised 
statesman nor deep thinker, but had so much good faith and honesty 
that he mistrusted nobody, and did not imagine that any one in the 
Tiers Etat could have any other views than to reform abuses, and to 
effect the good which seemed so easily within reach. A stranger to 

* Dante, Paradise, Canto 1 7. 



280 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 



every intrigue, and upright in all his intentions, he followed no guide 

but his conscience, and never acted but from a feeling of duty. His 

religious creed was like his political one ; he was a firm believer, but 

a friend to toleration, and he rejoiced to see the Protestants freed from 

all legal restrictions. He was prepared to find the clergy called upon 

to make great sacrifices, but did not expect that they would be the 

victims of the Revolution. I have seen him at a later period, when the 

domains of the Church were declared national property. I found him 

one day, at that time, dismissing, with tears in his eyes, some old and 

faithful servants, making reductions in his hospitable house, and selling 

a few valuables for the payment of his debts. He imparted his sorrows 

to me in full confidence. His grief was not on his own account, but he 

accused himself of having allowed himself to be duped, and of having 

supported the cause of the Tiers jEtat, which, now in its period of 

strength, violated all the engagements it had contracted in its period of 

weakness. How painful for an honourable man to have contributed to 

the success of so iniquitous a faction ! Yet never was man less deserving 

of self-reproach." 

We believe this character to apply to very many from all ranks 
of the French clergy at that time. We believe in the virtue and 
disinterestedness of that much-calumniated body. Instances have 
come within our own knowledge, when amongst our countrymen 
some of the fiercest antagonists of the Roman Catholics have been 
won over to a better opinion of their faith from witnessing the 
patient meekness and truly Christian virtues of the exiled priests 
and Bishops. The same praise of fortitude and patience may be 
as justly extended to the emigrant nobility ; and their emigra- 
tion, though a most grievous political blunder in those who 
directed it, was, in most cases of its execution, a most noble act 
of loyalty and sacrifice of private interests. It is well known how 
these emigrants cheerfully employed themselves in the lowest and 
most laborious means of livelihood. We have heard of cases 
amongst the more successful of these high-born artisans in London, 
when they, by denying themselves all but the merest necessaries 
of life, regularly laid by a portion of their scanty earnings, and 
transmitted them, in token of duty and allegiance, to their exiled 
Royal family. Is it possible to believe of such men all the pain- 
ful tales of profligacy, heartlessness, and cowardice, which we 
find Lord John Russell and Mr. Macaulay so ready to heap upon 
their memories? We admit that in some, but only a moderate 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 281 

degree, adversity may have acted on their minds as a chastener 
and corrector. We admit also that some of the emigrants did 
not bear the return of power so well as the pressure of adversity. 
But should a reproach of that kind be limited only to emigrants 
or only to Frenchmen ? 

Of the magistracy we have hitherto said nothing, but its 
defence stands on still higher ground. The magistracy of France 
during the two centuries preceding the Revolution was, perhaps, 
the most illustrious ever known for talent, integrity, and public 
spirit. Always supporting the rights of the people, even when 
the people itself was insensible to freedom, — always supporting 
the just prerogatives of the Crown, even when suffering under 
kingly persecution ; they were patriots without the aim of popu- 
larity, and Royalists without the aim of Royal favour. History 
can record scarcely any other instances of struggles against 
arbitrary power, pursued with such perseverance, at so great 
personal sacrifice, and upon such slender foundations of authority. 
Even in the most corrupt of times, the latter days of Louis XV., 
the Parliament of Paris stood firm and unshaken amidst exiles 
and imprisonments, domiciliary visits, Lettres de Cachet, and 
every other device of tyrannical malice. " Your Edict, Sire," 
they said, at the close of one of their addresses, " is subversive of 
all law. Your Parliament is sworn to maintain the law ; and if 
the law perishes, they will perish with it : these, Sire, are the 
last words of your Parliament." Such was their spirit in the 
practice of politics. In its theory they could train such minds 
as Montesquieu's. In oratory we find two of the most eloquent 
of the French writers, De Retz and Rousseau, bear most striking 
testimony to the eloquence of such speakers as they possessed in 
Talon and Loyseau de Mauleon. Nor had they degenerated 
from their former worth. Never did this illustrious body appear 
more illustrious than at its close, when its long and bright array 
of the L'Hopitals and D'Aguesseaus was excelled and worthily 
concluded by the crowning glory of Malesherbes. It appears to 
us very remarkable, that as the English army has produced, per- 
haps, the best officers, so the French bar has produced, perhaps, 
the best magistrates; the appointments in both cases being a 
matter of purchase and sale. 

We therefore consider it most unjust to represent, like Lord 



282 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

John Russell, the persons or orders we have mentioned as the 
causes of the French Revolution. Yet something even beyond 
this has been asserted, and an excuse invented for the Jacobins 
which had certainly never occurred to the Jacobins themselves. A 
most able and eloquent writer as well as speaker of our own day, 
we mean Mr. Macaulay, attempts to make the upper classes in 
France responsible, not only for the origin of the Revolution in 
that country, but also for all the crimes and atrocities to which it 
afterwards proceeded. He tells us, that " the truth is, a stronger 
argument against the old monarchy of France may be drawn 
from the noyades and the fusillades than from the Bastile and 
the Pare aux Cerfs. We believe it to be a rule without an 
exception, that the violence of a revolution corresponds to the 
degree of misgovernment which has produced that revolution. . .. 
The reaction is exactly proportioned to the pressure — the venge- 
ance to the provocation." 

Such is the novel doctrine under which it is attempted to 
make the nobles and clergy of France bear the odium of the very 
excesses which cost them their titles, their fortunes, and their 
lives. It is, in fact, an ill-considered attempt to apply mechanical 
laws to politics. But this " rule without an exception " will be 
found, on the contrary, to have scarcely an instance in its favour. 
The annals of every country belie it. Some of the most oppres- 
sive dynasties have had the most tranquil subjects — some of the 
best have been requited with rebellions. But even comparing 
together different revolutions, it will be seen that the degree of 
popular outrage is anything but a test and measure of the degree 
of Royal misrule. Look to the whole tenor of the Eastern revo- 
lutions, and compare them with the French. It will surely not 
for one moment be contended that even the worst days of the old 
French monarchy ever approached the cruelty or oppression of 
Turkey or Marocco. On the principle of equal reaction, any 
revolution at Constantinople, or at Fez, ought to be a thousand 
times more fierce and dreadful — more destructive of life and pro- 
perty — than any revolution at Paris. How do the facts accord 
with this theory ? The French Revolution of 1789 made hundred 
thousands of families orphans and outcasts — it is crowded with 
murders whose ferocity might disgrace a commonwealth of wolves. 
In the Turkish annals, on the contrary, we find revolution after 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 283 

revolution effected with comparatively nothing of bloodshed and 
horror. A strangled Sultan or Vizier — a few plundered shops — a 
few bowstrings and capidgees sent off to the provincial Pashas — 
make up the usual sum of its atrocities. The oppressive men or 
the oppressive measures that caused the insurrection are removed, 
and the many-headed monster having thus, by a violent throe, 
flung off the burthen that galled it, immediately resumes its usual 
yoke of submission. Every part of the government returns to its 
regular and peaceful routine — the same haratch is paid into the 
same treasury — the same spahees guard the same posts — the same 
superstitious veneration greets the new Sultan — the same ready 
obedience attends the new Divan. 

We know of no reason whatever why, in examining this pretended 
rule, we should confine ourselves to Christian or to civilised coun- 
tries, or to cases of fundamental changes in the laws and institu- 
tions. But if even we thus limit our sphere of observation, the 
result will be the same. Compare, for example, our two revo- 
lutions of 1642 and 1688. The government of James II. was 
certainly very far more severe and sanguinary and opposed 
to precedent than that of Charles I. Yet the re-action 
against Charles I. was very far more violent and fatal than that 
against his son. Again, compare the Spanish revolution of 
1821 with the French of 1789. No man who has either seen 
or studied the two nations will deny that the evils of the old 
Spanish system — the abuses both in church and state, for some 
of which, such as the mesta, there is no parallel and even no 
name in other countries — were infinitely greater and more 
grievous than any that can be charged on the old monarchy of 
France. Were the excesses of the Spanish revolution greater 
too ? We are no apologists for the Spanish patriots of that day. 
Their ignorance, their presumption, their blind obstinacy, their 
precipitation in planning, their slowness and negligence in exe- 
cution, can neither be denied nor be excused. They have done 
their best to render a good cause not only an object of blame, 
but an object of contempt. The pure emblem of liberty has 
been defaced by their dirty and bungling hands. Even those 
who, like Agustin Arguelles, were most upright and irreproach- 
able in character, and had hitherto seemed sober and steady in 
judgment, were no sooner raised above the multitude than they 



284 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

became dizzy, lost their balance, and were whirled along with 
the rest. All this we admit against the Spanish patriots. But 
still, did they ever imbrue their hands in deep torrents of inno- 
cent blood ? Did they ever contrive to combine the crimes of 
atheism with the mummeries of superstition ? Was a courtezan 
ever hailed as the Goddess of Reason and worshipped on the high 
altar of Toledo? Did the Tagus, like the Loire, ever see 
struggling wretches tied together in pairs and plunged into its 
stream, while the ruffians on its banks shouted in exultation at 
the dying convulsions of their victims, and called them by the 
jocular name of " marriages " ? 

Then again, as the Spaniards of 1821 were more misgoverned 
than the French of 1789, so were the Neapolitans of the former 
period more misgoverned than the Spaniards. The character of 
the Neapolitans too in their lowest orders — from whatever cause 
■ — was, beyond that of any other Christian nation, ignorant, fero- 
cious, and depraved. Yet the Neapolitan revolution was even 
milder than the Spanish — property was less endangered, and life 
less often sacrificed. So ill do the facts accord with this plau- 
sible theory ! So much easier is it to assert than to examine ! 

It would be endless to accumulate further instances. Yet 
before we dismiss this part of the subject, we will give two more r 
which we think striking, from the history of France. Of all the 
French Kings, Henry III. was perhaps the worst, Henry IV. 
probably the best. Under the last of the Valois, the people 
were rent with factions and ground down with oppression ; under 
the first of the Bourbons they were contented and happy. Now, 
according to the " rule without an exception," the mob of Paris 
would have been distinguished after the death of Henry III. by 
peculiar ferocity, and after the death of Henry IV. by peculiar 
moderation. It so happens, however, that the very reverse was 
the case. One of the facts most honourable to the Parisian 
populace occurred soon after the death of Henry III. : one of 
the foulest blots on their historical character occurred soon after 
the death of Henry IV. "We shall shortly advert to both. 

In 1590, a few months after the death of Henry III., Paris 
was besieged by his successor. Failing in open attack, Henry IV. 
had recourse to blockade. A dreadful famine ensued among the 
citizens. Dogs and cats, and other such animals, were first 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 285 



eagerly devoured. Human bones, ground into powder and then 
kneaded into paste, supplied the place of bread. The poorer 
classes, says De Thou, were at length reduced entirely to leaves, 
roots, and grasses, which they went out to pluck among the 
stones. In these circumstances, if in any, violence and outrage 
might have been excused. Yet the people bore their sufferings 
with the utmost patience and mildness, and revenged them 
neither on their own resolute chiefs nor on the enemy's supposed 
partisans. Neither Mendoza, the Spanish ambassador, nor the 
Duke de Nemours, the Ligueur chief, nor the friends of 
Henry IV. at Paris, sustained the slightest injury. Once only 
a few hundred poor wretches, half maddened with famine, beset 
the palace with loud cries of La paix ou du pain, but they soon 
dispersed almost of themselves ; only one life (their ringleader's) 
was sacrificed, and their fellow-townsmen remained tranquil, 
until at length the approach of the Duke of Parma compelled 
Henry to raise the siege. 

After the death of the great Henry, his sceptre fell into the 
hands of his widow, a weak and passionate woman, usually wrong, 
and always stubborn in her resolutions. An Italian adventurer, 
Concini, was brought by her favour first to high rank and 
dignity, under the title of the Marechal d'Ancre, and then to a 
violent and disgraceful death. His character seems to have 
been vain rather than vicious, and comparatively few evil actions 
can be charged either upon his conduct or his counsels. Yet the 
mob of Paris, which had crouched before the powerful favourite, 
sprung with most tiger-like fury on his helpless remains. The 
scene that ensued was not unworthy the philosophers and phi- 
lanthropists of later days. We remember that Voltaire, in his 
« Voyages de Scarmentado,' makes that imaginary traveller arrive 
at Paris at this period, and be politely accosted by several per- 
sons, desirous of showing attention to a stranger, and asking him 
whether he chose to have a morsel of Marshal d'Ancre for 
breakfast ! And this is scarcely an exaggeration. The authentic 
details recorded by Le Vassor fully bear it out. Shall we re- 
late how the corpse, having first been disinterred, was mutilated, 
dragged through the streets, torn limb from limb, deliberately 
roasted and greedily devoured ? Let us rather shrink from this 
horrible scene ! 



286 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

Upon the whole we must confess, notwithstanding our per- 
sonal respect for Mr. Macaulay, that the more closely we 
examine his theory the more deep is our conviction of its 
ill tendency. We can scarcely conceive any doctrine leading 
to a more dangerous deduction. It represents revolutions, not 
the sudden, terrible, and uncontrollable convulsions which they 
have been hitherto considered, — dealing out their blows on 
the wisest and the best, and, even when striking the guilty, 
always striking them in vengeance and not in punishment, — 
but rather as systematic and salutary movements, always accom- 
plishing the ends of justice with great fairness, though, per- 
haps, in a somewhat irregular manner, and meting out against 
oppressive rulers exactly that degree of retribution which their 
previous oppression deserved. It may teach the people no 
longer to dread their own excesses. It may teach them that 
revolutions may always be undertaken with alacrity, because, 
with the principle of equal reaction within them, they will 
always be bounded by justice. We believe the very reverse 
to be the case. We believe that every nation, which under- 
stood its own interest, would only betake itself to revolutions 
as a last and most desperate extremity, and would be anxious 
to yield something rather than to hazard all. We believe 
that revolutions, though often entered into with the most selfish 
motives, are, of all human transactions, the least selfish in their 
usual results. When a change of principles is at stake, they 
never fail to sacrifice the tranquillity and happiness of one gene- 
ration for the probable improvement and advantage of the next. 
It is neither more nor less than to cut down an old tree — some- 
what time-worn, perhaps, and decayed, but still affording suste- 
nance by its fruits, and shelter by its branches — to plant in its 
place a young sapling of a better stock. Thus our own revo- 
lution of 1688, undertaken as it was on the clearest grounds of 
justice, and conducted on the wisest scheme of policy, was the 
parent of three civil wars, and sixty years of national division. 
Thus the French revolution of 1830, which, though far less 
wisely conducted, was almost as justly undertaken, has extin- 
guished the commercial prosperity of France, increased the 
expenditure, diminished the revenue, embittered by turns every 
party, and as yet satisfied none. 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 287 

The causes of the first French revolution seem to us very- 
obvious and undoubted. And first the feeble character of Louis 
XVI. In the opinion of M. Dumont this single cause would be 
sufficient to account for the whole of the revolution : — 

" Suppose," he says, "a King of a firm and decisive character in 
the place of Louis XVI., and the Revolution would not have taken 
place. His whole reign did nothing but produce it. Nay, more, there 
was no period, during the whole first Assembly, when the King, if he 
could have changed his character, might not have re-established his 
authority, and formed a mixed constitution more firm and solid than the 
old Monarchie Parlementaire et Nobiliaire of France. His indecision, 
his weakness, his half-measures, have ruined all. The inferior causes 
which contributed to this result are only the development of this great 
first cause. Where the monarch is feeble-minded, the courtiers are 
intriguing, the factions are loud, the populace is daring, good men 
become timid, the most zealous public servants become discouraged, the 
men of talent meet only with repulses, and the best counsels lead to no 
effect." 

Another very efficient cause was the example of the United 
States. The old French government, in assisting the North 
American insurgents, imagined that they should strike a heavy 
blow against England. They did so, — but it recoiled still more 
heavily against themselves. A vague idea of republican equality 
spread amongst the French officers on that service. They were 
most of them young men, giddy, ignorant, and enthusiastic. 
They did not consider the different situation of America as a 
new and growing country, with none of those hereditary rights 

or hereditary attachments which give stability to institutions, - 

but, on the other hand, possessing, in its back settlements, a 
constant and easy outlet for that superabundance of population 
and of activity which, in old countries, seeks a vent upwards by 
pressing against the government and richer classes. Such points 
of total difference were overlooked by La Fayette and his friends, 
and, on returning to France, these new converts to the demo- 
cratical doctrine became its apostles. At first, indeed, they did 
not carry their views beyond abstract speculation. But by the 
long and persevering exertions of the Philosophers (as they 
falsely called themselves) the ground had been already prepared 
for the evil seed, and the progress of events soon turned these 
theorists into conspirators. 



288 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

These previous exertions of the philosophers, carried on with 
the most persevering activity, and the most unscrupulous choice 
of means, we look upon as the third great cause of the French 
Revolution. Literature had been favoured and pensioned by- 
Louis XIV. It had been comparatively neglected by Louis XV. 
In the former reign, therefore, literary men were generally 
courtiers, in the latter they affected to be frondeurs. It may be 
given as a general rule, that men of talent, if they cannot rise to 
wealth and distinction through the institutions of a country, will 
attempt to subvert those institutions. Diderot, D'Alembert, and 
all the rest of that crew, declared the Court oppressive to the 
country, because they found it unfriendly to themselves. Irre- 
ligion, too, had become the fashion amongst them ; and they had 
discovered that important secret-— so well known to our own 
revolutionary party at this time — that one of the best quarters 
from whence to assail and overthrow a state is through its church 
establishment. A sort of crusade was therefore preached against 
Christianity. Persecution and intolerance, which had gradually 
declined and died away amongst the priesthood, were revived 
amongst the philosophers. They were banded together by the 
association of the Encyclopedie, and still more by that strongest 
of all ties — a common hatred. Every man who ventured to 
dissent from them they hooted down as a fool, and marked out 
for a future victim. Thus they obtained a sort of monopoly of 
talent, and exerted it with the usual narrow spirit of monopolists. 
Thus it happened that every new work came to be considered 
dull and tasteless, unless seasoned with a touch either of demo- 
cracy or unbelief, — if possible with both. It became unfashion- 
able to print a book avec privilege du Roi. Nor was it merely 
a choice between a Court and an opposition. Louis XV., 
indeed, was hostile ; but another monarch took up the cause of 
anti-monarchical principles, — and Berlin became to the literary 
men of France, in this age, what Versailles had been to them in 
the last. Frederick II. — that extraordinary man, who can 
scarcely be ranked too high as a general, or too low as an 
author, — that compound, as Voltaire used to say, of Julius 
Caesar and of Abbe Cottin — whose life teems with proofs of 
genius, and whose twenty volumes of works have not one single 
spark of it to enliven their intolerable dulness, — found means to 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 289 

combine the gratification of his vanity with the maintenance of 
his power, by inditing all his sarcasms against Christianity and 
social order, not in his own language, but in that of a foreign 
state. And thus, when, after his death, the principles lie had 
assisted to rear and foster were convulsing that foreign state to 
its foundations, his own remained quiet and unshaken. To his 
example and encouragement we may certainly ascribe no small 
share of the success of the philosophers, and to their success no 
small share of the bloodshed and havoc of the ensuing revolution. 
It may be said that they never advised such horrors, and agitated 
the people with only such fair words as toleration, liberty, and 
universal peace. But the truth is, that human passions, when 
once roused, pursue their fearful course with little reference to 
the cause which, roused them. Declamations against religious 
persecution prepared the way for the fusillades of the non- 
conforming priests ; and declamations against Royal ambition, 
for the attempted conquest of Europe, as much as formerly the 
Christian sermons of the Catholics had prepared the way for 
their un-Christian massacres of the Huguenots. In the sixteenth 
century it was not thought absurd by the people to shoot and 
drown with the crucifix in their hands. In the eighteenth century 
it seemed to them quite reasonable to shoot and drown with 
liberty and toleration on their lips. So little does a heated 
multitude understand its own cry ! 

These causes — which our limits allow us but briefly to glance 
over — appear to us the main-springs of the French Revolution. 
There were, no doubt, other less and concurring causes. There 
was, more especially, the disorder in the finances, to which 
almost every popular convulsion may, in some degree, be traced. 
Dans tout pays, says Rousseau, le peuple ne s'apergoit qu'on 
attente a sa liberie que lorsqu'on attente a sa bourse. But this 
can only be looked upon as the spark which fired the train — 
which hastened, but did not produce, the explosion. The more 
fully we peruse the historical records of those times, the 
more evident it becomes to us that the French Revolution was 
mainly owing, not to the distress suffered by the people, but to 
the false doctrines spread amongst them. And this opinion is 
greatly confirmed by observing the last revolution in 1830. At 
the time of the first, our infidels and democrats at home, when 

u 



290 THE FEENCH REVOLUTION. 

taunted with the terrible results to which their doctrine was 
leading in France, were accustomed to charge these on the 
frivolous and thoughtless or cruel and bloodthirsty character 
which they imputed to the French people. It is not our 
doctrine, said they, but their own disposition which makes them 
what you see them — Septembriseurs and Terroristes. But if the 
French people in a second great convulsion — when Royalty, 
though from other causes, again lay prostrate at their feet, and 
when the paving-stone had become for the time as a sceptre in 
their hands — displayed no such disposition, — to what can we 
ascribe their former ferocity, unless to the doctrines which at the 
former period, but not at the latter, cried down all religion as a 
mummery, and all Royalty as an usurpation ? 

We are persuaded, with M. Dumont, that Louis XVI. might, 
if a firmer man, have stayed the revolution in its course. We 
believe, in fact, that there never was a revolution which might 
not have been arrested by a proper policy on the part of the 
government, — by a sufficiently steady resistance or sufficiently 
liberal concession. The misfortune is, that weak monarchs or 
weak ministers are bold when they should be cautious, or shrink 
when they ought to strike. We think, also, we can observe 
that in two countries like France and England, so intent upon 
each other's political movements, and so much affected by them, 
the false system which leads to a revolution is always the 
opposite to that which produced the last in either country. If 
the last has been produced by too easy concession, the next is 
produced by too obstinate resistance ; if the last had its Turgot, 
the next has its Polignac. Thus, the proximate cause of our 
great civil war was undoubtedly the attempt of Charles I, to 
seize the five members. His own friends were the first to con- 
demn that most rash and illegal measure. Hyde, Falkland, and 
other leading Royalists in the House of Commons, were so angry 
and ashamed, that for some time they suspended their resistance 
to the revolutionary party. The King himself was not long in 
discerning his fault, and, in the words of Clarendon, showed 
" that trouble and agony which usually attend generous and 
magnanimous minds upon their having committed errors." 
There were many previous provocations on both sides. But this 
ill-fated attempt of Charles was the signal and occasion for that 



THE FEENCH EEVOLUTION. 291 

strife which did not end until his head rolled upon the block, 
and his sceptre passed into the hands of an usurper. The son of 
that usurper a few years afterwards inherited the power, but not 
the genius of his father. In this position Richard Cromwell 
looked to the fate of the unhappy Charles as a warning ; and, 
resolving not to cling to his prerogatives too firmly, he held 
them, on the contrary, with so loose a grasp, and showed such 
readiness to yield, as first to excite contempt, then to invite 
attack, and, at last, to show how short is the interval for rulers 
between public contempt and dethronement. 

Again, James II. was mindful of the feebleness and degrada- 
tion of Richard Cromwell. He thought that power was to be 
maintained only by its despotic exercise. His whole reign was a 
warfare against the constitutional liberties and the established 
religion of his subjects. No prince ever showed less respect for 
law ; no prince ever afforded more justification for resistance. 
And thus was produced that revolution, which we must always 
consider not only one of the most happy, but one of the most 
glorious events recorded in our annals. On this point we are 
sorry to find ourselves again so completely at issue with Mr. 
Macaulay. " It was," he says, " a happy revolution and a 
useful revolution, but it was Jiot, what it has often been called, 
a glorious revolution. The transaction was, in almost every 
part, discreditable to England."* Can it really be, that public 
opinion has so far altered as to sanction this strange and new 
doctrine ? Can it really be, that the electors of Leeds approve 
of such sentiments, and have come to think so ill of the great 
work of deliverance which their own forefathers wrought ? 

A century after the expulsion of James, Louis XVI. was 
anxious to draw wisdom from the fate of the Stuarts. Pie was 
continually reading over the lives of Charles I. and James II., 
and even, it is said, added comments with his own hand on the 
margin. Determined to avoid their erring policy, he, as we 
have already seen, temporized and yielded on every possible 
occasion. What was the result ? His death was produced by 
his concessions as much as the death of Charles or the dethrone- 
ment of James had been produced by the opposite cause. 

* Edinburgh Eeview, No. 95, p. 159. 

u2 



292 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

Charles X., on coming to the throne, was perpetually re- 
minded of the weakness of his brother. He was told, and truly 
told, that this weakness had brought the kingdom to anarchy, 
and the King himself to the scaffold. He therefore resolved to 
avoid this error. But he avoided it, as all weak men avoid an 
error — by running into the opposite extreme. His desperate 
rashness in issuing the Ordonnances of July was precisely the 
converse to the indecision and timidity of Louis XVI. His 
order to stop the insurrection of Paris by force of arms stands in 
most direct contrast with the unwillingness of Louis to defend 
his own apartments when attacked in the Tuileries, or pursue 
his progress when arrested at Yarennes. Their policy was 
opposite, but their failure was the same. 

This last revolution was evidently produced by what we have 
called the spirit of resistance — violent measures on the part of 
the Crown. From its example, and according to the theory we 
have just laid down, we think it probable, that the next, either 
in France or England, will be produced by the opposite — an 
excessive spirit of concession.* Thus, if the events in this 
country during the last two years are to be looked upon as the 
commencement of a complete revolution, like the French of 
1789 — a point on which at present we abstain from giving an 
opinion — if our scaffolds are soon to stream with innocent blood 
— if we are to be hurried through the dismal road of anarchy to 
its inevitable termination, a military despotism — if these and 
other such calamities assail us, will it be denied that they arose 
from too eager a thirst for popularity — from weakly expecting to 
outrun unreasonable claims — from wickedly preferring the tem- 
porary inclinations to the permanent interests of the people ? 

It is evident to us, from the work of M. Dumont as well as 
from several others, that one great reason why the members of 
the National Assembly were both rapacious and unthrifty with 
respect to public property, was because they had so little of their 
own. Woe to the nation which confides its destinies to a pack 
of hungry lawyers and adventurers — to men who are not only 
tempted but compelled to make politics a trade, because they 

* The Revolution in France of February, 1848, has proved of a very 
different kind ; but the author would not think it candid on that account to 
alter this passage, which is therefore left precisely as it was printed in 1S33. 



THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 293 

have no private fortune to supply the place of one ! Such men 
composed the majority of the deputies from the Tiers Etat. 
They fancied that they had nothing to lose by revolution — a 
mistake to which the guillotine afterwards gave a bloody refuta- 
tion — and thus they became patriots from poverty. We remember 
Madame Roland^ in her ( Memoirs/ says of Lazowski, and her 
observation might apply to many more : — " // sefit sans-culotte, 
puisqu' aussi bien il etait menace d'en manquerT And here lies 
the great error of the French people at that period, in selecting 
such representatives, and forgetting that none are safe legislators 
for a country but those who have some stake in its welfare. The 
truth is, we believe, that in any highly-civilized and artificial 
state of society, like ours, no attempt to dissever property from 
power can be long successful. Either the property will recover 
the power, or the power will usurp the property. In either case 
they will soon become reunited. 

The advantage of selecting persons of property and persons of 
character is well understood by the people of England. Ho 
people, indeed, has ever, when in its natural state, shown higher 
political sagacity or a more just discrimination of public men. 
But in moments of great excitement the counsels of wisdom and 
experience are found to lag behind the impatient wishes of the 
multitude. Such, we fear, may have lately become the case in 
England. Public judgments on public characters have been 
completely reversed. Whenever a man is found unfit for any 
other profession or employment, he is thought admirably quali- 
fied for that of a statesman. The same course of conduct which 
would make us distrust him in private life is urged as a claim 
upon our confidence in public. Thus also with respect to talents. 
We have frequently heard it said that in moments of excitement 
the difference of ranks is levelled, and each mind assumes the 
station for which nature designed it. This may often be true. 
But it also appears to us that, at such times, the grossest delusions 
are afloat with respect to talents, and that the heaviest loads are 
often imposed on the frailest shoulders. A very insignificant 
figure appears magnified through the mists of party. 

It is, also, very striking in the French Revolution to observe 
into what extremities men, very moderate at first, were finally 
hurried. Good intentions were found to be but very slight secu- 



294 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

rity for good conduct. On the contrary, several men who began 
with most honest views ended with most mischievous measures. 
Thus, for instance, Brissot is described by M. Dumont as imbued 
with strong religious feelings and upright political intentions. 
Yet M. Dumont, on returning to Paris after an absence of some 
months, found, to his great surprise, this very Brissot plunged, 
as he says, with his whole heart into the Machiavelism of party- 
spirit, and while knowing and admitting the innocence of a 
minister (M. de Lessert), anxious to bring him to trial as a traitor ! 

" I had known him," continues Dumont, " candid and generous, — I 
now saw him crafty and persecuting. If his conscience — for Brissot 
was a moral and religious man — made him any reproaches, he silenced 
it by the pretended necessity of serving the state by such means. It 
is in times of faction that one perceives how truly Helvetius has defined 
public virtue. Brissot was true to his party, but not true to honour. 
He was impelled by a sort of enthusiasm, to which he was ready to 
sacrifice everything ; and because he was conscious of no love of money, 
nor ambition of office, he thought himself a pure and virtuous citizen. 
'See,' he used to say, ' my more than frugal establishment — see my 
Spartan diet — watch me in rny domestic habits — try if you can reproach 
me with any unworthy pursuits or frivolous amusements. Why, for 
more than two years I have never entered a theatre !' On such grounds 
rested his confidence in himself. He did not perceive that zeal for his 
party, love of power, hatred, and vanity, are tempters quite as dangerous 
as love of gold, ambition of official dignity, or a taste for pleasure." 

Another thing very remarkable in the French Revolution, and 
no doubt to be ranked amongst the subordinate causes of its pro- 
gress, is the extreme absurdity and childishness of its legislative 
debates. The French are a nation of refined and polished taste. 
They have a keen eye for the ridiculous ; they most carefully 
avoid and most unmercifully lash it in the intercourse of private 
life. How comes it, then, that, in public discussions, they should 
invariably display all the petulance of schoolboys, all the pedantry 
of schoolmasters? "The debates of the National Assembly,'' 
says Mr. Macaulay, with great truth, "were endless successions 
of trashy pamphlets — all beginning with men in the hunting state, 
and other such foolery." Even in the present year a debate in the 
Chamber of Deputies might sometimes have been deemed to afford 
a study worthy of Hogarth. But its follies are wisdom as com- 






THE FEENCH EEVOLUTION. 295 

pared to those of the National Assembly or Convention. In that 
valuable and interesting work, the ' Memoires deKoederer,' which 
was privately printed last year, we remember being amused with 
one instance, which is not, however, mentioned as anything sin- 
gular. M. Isnard, a Giro?idist deputy of some influence, and who, 
as such, was employed to harangue and quiet the mob on the me- 
morable 20th of June, 1792, was, on the following 3rd of August, 
accused in the Chamber of having sold himself to the English 
cabinet. Now, let any one consider for a moment what would 
be the defence of an Englishman in a similar case. He would 
bring testimony — he would allege his own previous character — 
he would retort on his assailants — in short, he would regularly 
plead his cause. What is the defence of the Frenchman ? He 
unbuttons his waistcoat ! He lays bare his breast ! " Malheur eux, 
ouvre mon cceur, et tu verras sHl est Frangais /" And this 
defence is admitted ! 

Such scenes might appear only ridiculous. But it is a source 
of danger in every country, that men seldom believe that what 
is ridiculous may also be formidable. People laughed at the 
follies of the National Assembly. They laughed at the clenched 
fists, furious interruptions, frothy declamations, and turbulent 
galleries of that noisy mob. They laughed at its shallow ideas of 
politics, which knew of no better security against despotic power 
than a feeble government. But those days of laughter were only 
the first acts of the piece, and France had not yet reached the 
consummation of the revolutionary drama, which, unlike other 
theatrical representations, begins in farce and ends in tragedy. 



296 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

[Qu. Eev., No. 155. June, 1846.] "f &"# & / 

Inscriptionum Latinarum Selectarum amplissima Collectio ad illustrandam 
Itomanoe Antiquitatis disciplinam accommodata, ac magnarum Col- 
lectionum supplementa complura smendationesque exhibens. Cum ineditis 
J. C. Hagenbachii suisque adnotationibus edidit J. C. Orellius. Turici, 
1828, 2 vols. 

It is but seldom that we have to acknowledge any contributions 
to literature or the fine arts from Switzerland. The great 
Revolution of 1830, in France, drew in its train a whole host of 
minor revolutions among the Alps. Tiny as these for the most 
part were, and often reminding us of Voltaire's mot on an emeute 
at Geneva — " a tempest in a teacup " — they have still, we fear, 
in too many cases arrested the progress of well-ordered improve- 
ment, and substituted the fierce resentment and rancour of party 
for the peaceful rivalries of science. 

Of the literary works in Switzerland before these stirring 
events, one of the latest now lies before us. Professor Orellius, of 
Zurich, has both laboriously collected and skilfully classified the 
principal Roman inscriptions found in various parts of Europe. 
In these respects, as well as in judicious notes, his two volumes 
appear to us far superior to any former compilation of the kind. 
We have only to regret the absence of a third volume, which 
should contain the epitaphs and other inscriptions of the early 
Christians, the work before us being limited almost entirely to 
the Pagan remains. 

One of the principal duties of Professor Orellius — a duty in 
which that great compiler, Gruterus, showed himself strangely 
negligent — has been to winnow the grain from the chaff, to 
separate the genuine Roman inscriptions from such as are 
manifestly and beyond all question spurious. Foremost among 
the latter we are sorry to find the celebrated epitaph from 
Avenches : — 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 297 

IVLIA ALPINVLA HIC IACEO 

INFELIClS PATRIS INFELIX PROLES 

DEAE AVENTIAE SACERDOS ; 

EXORARE PATRIS NECEM NON POTVI 

MALE MORI IN FATIS ILLI ERAT. 

VIXI ANNOS XXIII. 

To this imaginary Julia Alpinula, Lord Byron has devoted a 
beautiful stanza in ' Childe Harold :' — 

" And there — oh sweet and sacred be the name ! — 
Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart beneath a claim 
Nearest to Heaven's broke o'er a father's grave. 
Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
The life she lived in ; but the judge was just : 
And then she died on him she could not save. 
Their tomb was simple, and without a bust, 
And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust." 

It must be a matter of concern to all true admirers of ' Childe 
Harold ' that, as far as we know or can ascertain, no such person 
as Julia Alpinula ever existed at all ! Childe Harold himself 
was far less imaginary ! 

At the time he wrote, however, no such misgivings crossed 
the minds of the noble poet or of his readers. In his note, after 
quoting the Latin inscription, he adds, " I know of no human 
composition so affecting as this, nor a history of deeper interest. 
These are the names and actions which ought not to perish, and 
to which we turn with a true and healthy tenderness." 

From the days of the poet, the epitaph at Avenches has ac- 
cordingly become the object of frequent inquiry and never- 
failing disappointment to tourists. We ourselves have been 
among: the eager and baffled searchers around the walls of the 
little town. At that time nothing whatever seemed to be 
known about it at Avenches ; but more recently, the number of 
tourists having increased, a ready answer is provided that the stone 
has been purchased by an Englishman, and carried off to London. 

In fact, however, it appears that this inscription was given by 
one Paul Wilhelm, a noted forger (falsarius), toLipsius, and by 
Lipsius handed over to Gruterus. Nobody, either before or 
since Wilhelm, has even pretended to have seen the stone ; and 



298 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

the style of the epitaph, as we can ourselves bear witness, is 
wholly different from that of any other undoubted Helvetic in- 
scription. It appears to have been fabricated from a passage in 
Tacitus, where the historian relates that Caecina on coming to 
Avenches put to death Julius Alpinus, one of the principal 
citizens and the stirrer up of a recent war.* But as to any son 
or daughter of Julius Alpinus history is wholly silent. The 
character of Wilhelm himself as an antiquary was undoubtedly 
at the lowest ebb ; he is known to have produced another 
wholly false inscription, and to have interpolated many true 
ones — quas avroirraQ aliter dedisse certe constat — adds Orellius. 
(Compare vol. i. pp. 40 and 123.) It appears the more desirable 
clearly to detect this forgery, since not long since it imposed 
upon one whose error is likely to mislead many more — our wary 
and accurate friend Mr. Murray in his ' Handbook of Swtizerland.' 
The following inscription was likewise given to Lipsius by 
Paul Wilhelm, and as such would be wholly undeserving of 
credit, were it not in some degree vouched for by the respect- 
able historian of Geneva, M. Spon, who says of it (vol. iii. 
p. 329) that it was formerly to be seen built into the walls of 
Geneva, near la Corraterie. 

VIXI vt vivis ; 

MORIERIS VT SVM MORTVVS ; 

SIC VITA TRVDITVR. 

VALE VIATOR 

ET ABI IN REM TV AM. 

Even with such a voucher the antiquity of the inscription is 
considered far from certain. 

One series of the inscriptions now before us bears the title 
matrimonivm. But our fair readers especially will be disposed 
to exclaim against this classification as most incorrect, when they 
hear that it includes those ladies who (however tender the rela- 
tion in which they stood to the deceased) were by no means his 
wives. The classic scholar may be scarcely less surprised at the 
strange Latinity of the term of honour which these ladies some- 
times receive ; the word is focaria. Orellius, in a note, 

* Cumque, dirutis omnibus, Aventicum, gentis caput, justo agmine peter etur, 
missi qui dederent civitatem, et deditio accepta. In Julium Alpinum e prin- 
cipibus, ut concitorem belli, Ccecina advertit, ceteros Venice vel scevitice 
Vitellii reliquit. (Hist., lib. i. c. C8.) 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 299 

explains it as follows — concubma, non legitima conjux, a foco 
ita dicta, mulier quae focum curat. For example, the epitaph 
of Aurelius Vitalis (No. 2699), found at Ravenna, thus con- 
cludes : — 

VALERIA FAVSTINA FOCARIA 

ET HERES EJVS 

BENEMERENTI FOSVIT. 

Another euphuism for the same class appears to be hospita : 
ut volunt quidam, honestius pro concubina militis — says our 
annotator. 

Sometimes the same stone commemorates both the legitimate 
and illegitimate connexion. Thus No. 2673, found at Rome, 
is dedicated by one of the Lictors, Marcus Senilius, as follows : — 

SE VIVO FECIT SIBI ET 
PETIAE C. L. FRIMAE VXORI ET 
MARCIAE E. FELICI CONCVBINAE. 

True matrimonial inscriptions are very numerous, though 
comparatively few are comprised in this collection. The 
favourite epithets to a deceased wife seem to be carissimae, 
dvectssimae, and bene-merenti. There is another, which 
our fair readers (if, indeed, we may venture again to anticipate 
any such on so dry a subject) will not be well pleased to hear, 
especially if for their benefit we translate it as " Most Obse- 
quious." Most commonly we find it conjoined to some other 
epithet, but sometimes, though seldom, it stands alone, as in the 
following : — 

EAECIAE 

IRENE 

C. CAECIEIVS 

AVGVSTALIS 

VXORI 

OB SEQVENT- 

I SS I M A E. 

The marble monument bearing this inscription stood at Tarra- 
gona ; but, during the Wars of the Succession, it was presented, 
with several others, to General Stanhope, who placed it in his 
garden at Chevening, where it still remains. 

We will here add two remarkable ancient epitaphs, as copied 
by ourselves in Italy several years ago : 



300 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

From the Capitoline Museum, Rome. 

QVISQVIS EI EAESIT 
AVT NOCVIT SEVERAE 
INMERENTI, DOMINE 
SOE TIBI COMMENDO 
VINDICES EIVS MORTEM. 

From the Museo Borbonico, Naples. 
d . M . 

C . EEPIDIO IVCVNDO 
Q . V . A . Ill . M . II . FECIT 
C . EEPIDIVS FELIX FlLIO 

PIISSIMO 
EI SIBI ET SVIS LIBERTIS 
EIBERTABVSQVE POSTERIS- 
QVE EORVM PRAETER PHEE- 
GVSAM EIBERTAM NE EI 
IN HOC MONVMENTO ADITVS 
DETVR. 

In the work now before us, the chapter vita commvnis is 
fraught with curious traits of manners. The two following in- 
scriptions were found, the one at Rieti and the other at Rome ; 
and the writer of the first seems to have suffered from his own 
shyness as much as the writer of the second from the ill treat- 
ment of his friends : 

HOMINES EGO MONEO NE QVEIS DIFFIDAT SIBI. 



ANIMAE INGRATIVS HOMINE NVLLVM EST. 

It appears that amongst the Romans it was not unusual to wish 
a Happy New Year to oneself ! Thus : 

ANNVM NOVVM FAVSTVM FELICEM MIHI ET FILIO. 

Inscriptions on two rings, used apparently for love-tokens, and 
now preserved at Florence : 

amo te ; 

AM A ME. 
PIGNVS AMORIS HABES. 

On another, with a sunflower engraved : 

VNI AMBROSIA VENENVM CAETERIS. 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 301 

On a silver dog's collar, shown in the Museum at Verona, and 
described by Maffei : 

FVGI. TENE ME. CVM REVOCAVERIS ME LVM 
ZONINO ACCIPIS SOLIDVM. 

On a leaden ball for a sling (No. 4932) : 

ROMA FERI. 

which Orellius interprets " O Dea Roma, feri hostem 1 " 

But perhaps no chapter of Orellius is more extensive or more 
interesting than his sepvlchralia. It will appear, on close 
investigation, that the ancient epitaphs are marked by several 
not easily explained peculiarities of language. Thus the epithet 
dvlcissimae, which, as we have elsewhere intimated, is so often 
applied to a deceased wife, is never, in any recorded inscription, 
used for a living one. " dvlcissimae uxores tantummodo in 
sepulchralibus dicuntur" says our author, (No. 1695.) 

The following (No. 4390), which forms the close of the in- 
scription of Acilia and Aurelius at Eome, would in our time be 
considered as but a sorry jest at the lawyers : 

HVIC MONVMENTO 

DOLVS MALVS 

ABESTO ET 

IVRIS CONSVLTVS. 

In this epitaph we perceive the strong anxiety, however quaintly 
expressed, to guard the sepulchre from spoliation. The same 
anxiety prompts many other more earnest and affecting appeals. 
Thus in the monument of Terentia at Eome : 

QVISQVIS ES HOMO ET VOS SODALES MEOS CVNCTOS 
ROGO PER DEOS SVPEROS INFEROSQVE 
NE VELITIS OSSA MEA VIOLARE„ 

Sometimes this anxiety appears in iteration : 

STABERIAE P. L. FLORAE OSSA HEIC SITA SVNT 
ROGO TE MI VIATOR NOLI ME NOCERE ; 
ROGO TE MI VIATOR NOLI ME NOCERE. 

Sometimes by the invocation of every possible person that might 
hereafter have a right over or ingress to the spot : 



502 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

DOMNAEDIVS, POSSESSOR, 

. COLONVS SEQVENS, 
ET TV VIATOR, PRECOR 
PARCE TVMVLVM NARCISSI.* 

But the following is by far the most impressive of this class, 
or perhaps of the whole collection. It was found at Rome : 

QVISQVIS 
HOC SVSTVLERIT AVT EAESERIT 
VETIMVS SVORUM MORIATVR. 

Let it be observed that in this terrible malediction, meant to be 
the heaviest of all, the loss of fortune, the loss of life, nay, even 
the loss of fame, are held forth as far lesser evils than to survive 
all those whom we have loved ! We may picture to ourselves 
how it was written by some desolate old man standing on the 
brink of the grave, and wishing it had closed on him before ! 
This striking sentence has formed the subject of one among the 
best of Kotzebue's smaller dramas, which is entitled Der Fluch 
eines Homers, and which we think might have been advan- 
tageously adapted to the English stage. 

The two epitaphs which we shall next insert — the one to a 
beloved child, the other to a bride snatched away within the first 
moon of her marriage — are striking also. Even after so many 
ages have rolled by, and forgotten as are now the names which 
they record, and when 

" their very sepulchres lie tenantless," 
even thus it is difficult to read them without emotion : 

EAGGE FILI BENE QVIESCAS. 
MATER TVA ROGAT TE 
VT ME AD TE RECIPIAS. 
VALE. 



D. M. 
• L. ARVLENVS SOSIMVS FECIT 

CLODIAE CHARIDI CONIVGI DVLCISSIMAE 
QVAE SI AD VITAE METAM PERVENIs(set) 
non hominib(us) NEQVE DIS INVIDISSET. 
VIX SECVM VIXIT DIES XV. 

* " Quatuor homines alloquitur Narcissus, domnaedium, id est dominum 
aedium, po'ssessorem, colonum successor em suum, ac viatorem." Nota Orell., 
ad Inscript. No. 4787. 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 303 

The epitaphs of the Delias and Lesbias, such as Propertius 
and Catullus have sung, appear in a lighter strain : 

DELIAE SERTA DATE. 



ANTIPATRA 

DVLCIS TVA 

HIC SO ET NON SO. 

This " so," we need hardly observe, is an early form for svm. 
Of the same kind is another which Mr. Thicknesse observed in 
the south of France (Tour, vol. ii. p. 92) : 

DIIS INIQVIS QVI ANIMVLAM 
TVAM RAPVERVNT. 

Throughout these sepvechraeia nothing is more remarkable, 
amidst all the survivors' grief for the departed — amidst even the 
yearning to be gathered with them in the repose of dust — than 
the absence of any hope to rejoin them in an united immortality. 
The wishes expressed for them rarely soar above the graceful 
and frequent sit tibi terra levis. Rude as the early Christian 
inscriptions may be in style, uncouth in the form of their letters, 
and inaccurate in their arrangement, as the work, for the most 
part, of the unlearned and poor, how immeasurably are they 
raised by this blessed hope above the most refined and eloquent 
which Paganism could produce ! 

The chapter monvmenta historica contains a long and 
highly interesting series of inscriptions. The earliest of any 
length is that on the Rostral Column of Duilius, of which a 
great part is wanting, but which has been skilfully restored by 
Gottfried and Lanzi. As this series should commence with 
Duilius, so it may be considered as closing with Narses, when, 
after his last victory over the Goths, he repaired the Salarian 
Bridge. The inscription placed on that spot and on that occa- 
sion thus concludes : 

QVI POTVIT RIGIDAS GOTHORVM SVBDERE GENTES 
HIC DOCVIT DVRVM FEVMINA FERRE IVGVM. 

Of the Goths themselves, during their reign in Italy, and espe- 
cially of Theodoric the Great, there are several remaining in- 
scriptions, as, for instance, in some gardens near Ravenna : 



304 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

BEX THEODERICVS FAVENTE DEO 

ET BEELO GLORIOSVS ET OTIO 

FABRICIS SV1S AMOENA CONIVNGENS 

STERILI PAEVDE SICCATA 

HOS HORTOS SVAVI POMORVM FOECVNDITATE 

DITAVIT. 

The language of this and of the other inscriptions of the Goths 
in Italy will cease to surprise the reader when he recollects that 
the Epistles of Cassiodorus, containing all the main transactions 
of Theodoric's government, are in Latin also. It was from them, 
as his materials, that Montesquieu had once projected a history 
of that reign. 

Thus likewise in Sicily, it was well known from Procopius 
that the island had been divided between the Goths of Italy and 
the Yandals of Africa, Theodoric having granted the pro- 
montory and district of Lilybeeum as a dowry to his sister, 
on her marriage to the Vandal King Thrasimund. Now the 
very stone which served them for a demarcation has been 
found on the spot, and is still preserved at Marsala. It is thus 
inscribed : 

FINES 

INTER VANDA- 

LOS ET GOTHOS. 

MIL. HII. 

To our apprehension, however, no historical inscriptions on 
record can vie in interest with those of the Scipios. It was well 
known, from a passage in Cicero and another in Livy, that their 
sepulchre stood beyond the Porta Capena of Eome ;* and Livy 
describes it as being in his time surmounted by three statues- 
two of the Scipios, and the third, as was believed, of the poet 
Ennius. But it was not till a.d. 1780 that some labourers at 
work in a vineyard discovered a clue which led to further 
excavations ; and thus the tombs, after having lain undisturbed 
for upwards of two thousand years, were most unexpectedly 
brought to light. Since that time the original inscriptions have 
been removed to the Vatican, while their place in the recesses 
is supplied by copies. We shall now proceed to give them from 

* Cicero, Tusc, lib. i. c. 7. Ljv., lib. xxxviii. c. 56. 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 305 

the work of Venuti,* where they appear to us more completely 
and carefully illustrated than by Orellius. 

HONC . OINO . PLOIRVME . COSENTIONT . It . 
DVONORO . OPTVMO . FVISE . VIRO . 
LVCIOM . SCIPIONE . FILIOS . BARBATI . 
CONSOL . CENSOR . AIDILIS . HIC. FVET .A. .... . 

HEC . CEPIT . CORSICA . ALERIAQVE . VRBE . 
DEDET . TEMPESTATEBVS . AIDE . MERETO . 

Thus interpreted by Sirmond. 

" Hunc unum plurimi consentiunt Romae 
Bonorum optimum ftftsse virum 
Lucium Scipionem, filius Barbati. 
Consul Censor Aedilis Hie fuit ; atque f 
Hie cepit Corsicam, Aleriamque urbem. 
Dedit Tempestatibus aedem merito." 

It is very remarkable that this first Inscription, which appears 
to have lain nearest to the surface, was dug up so early as 1616, 
but was discarded by all the antiquaries as a fabrication till the 
discovery of the sepulchre itself in 1780. 

Epitaph of P. Cornelius Scipio ) a Flamen. 

QVEI . APICE . INSIGNE . DIALIS . FLAMINIS . GESISTEI . 
MORS . PERFECIT . TVA . VT . ESSENT . OMNIA . 
BREVIA . HONOS . FAMA . VIRTVSQVE . 
GLORIA . ATQVE . INGENIVM . QV1BVS . SEI . 
IN . LONGA . LICVISSET . TIBE . VTIER . VITA . 
FACILE . FACTEIS . SVPERASES . GLORIAM . 
MAIORVM . QVA . RE . LVBENS . TE . IN . GREM1V . 
SCIPIO . RECIPIT . TERRA . PVBLI . 
PROONATVM . PVBLIO . CORNELI . 

That is— 

Qui apicem insignem Dialis Flaminis gessisti, 

Mors perfecit tua ut essent omnia 

Brevia, Honos, Fama, Virtusque, 

Gloria, atque Ingenium ; quibus si 

In longa licuisset tibi uti vita, 



* Roma Antica, part ii. p. 6, &c. 
f Better, apud vos ; others, ad vos. 



306 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

Facile factis superasses gloriam 
Majorum ; qua re lubens te in gremium 
Scipio recipit terra, Publi 
Prognatum Publio Corneli. 



Epitaph of L. Cornelius Scipio, a Quaestor. 



L . CORNELI . L . F . P . N . 

SCIPIO . QVAIST . 

TR . MIL . ANNOS 
GNATVS XXXIII 
MORTVOS . PATER . 
REGEM . ANTIOCO . 
SVBEGIT . 



Epitaph of Lucius Scipio Barbatus.* 

CORNELIO CN . F . SCIPIO 

.... CORNELIVS . LVCIVS . SCIPIO . BARBATVS . GNAIVOD 
PATRE . PROGNATVS . FORTIS . VIR . SAPIENSQVE . 
QVOIVS . FORMA . VIRTUTEI . PARISVMA . FVIT . CONSOL 
CENSOR . AIDILIS . QVEI . FVIT . APVD . VOS . TAVRASIA 
CISAVNA . SAMNIO . CEP1T . SVBIGIT . OMNE . 
LOVCANA . OPSIDESQVE . ABDOVCIT 



Epitaph of Aula, wife of Scipio Hispanus. 

AVLLA . CORNELIA . CN . F . HISPALLI. 



Epitaph of Lucius Scipio the younger, 

I . CORNELIO . L . F . SCIPIO 
AIDILIS . COSOL . CESOR . 



Epitaph of Cneus Cornelius Scipio Hispanus. 

CN . CORNELIVS . CN . F . SCIPIO . HISPANVS . 
PR . AID . CVR . Q . TR . MIL . II . X . VIR . LL . IVDIK . X . VIR . 
SACR . FAC . 

* On his Sarcophagus in peperino, so well known by the innumerable 
models of it made at Rome. 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 307 

And below in lesser characters — 

VIRTVTES . GENERIS . MIEIS . MORIBVS . ACCVMVLAVI . 

PROGENIEM . GENVI . FACTA . PATRIS . PETIEI . 

MAJORVM . OPTENVI . LAVDEM . VT . SIBEI . ME . ESSE . CREATVM . 

EAETENTVR . STIRPEM . NOBLLITAVIT . HONOR . 

That is— 

Cneus Cornelius Cnei films Scipio Hispanus. 

Praetor, Aedilis Curulis, Quaestor, Tribunus Militum bis, 

Decemvir litibus judicandis, Decemvir sacris faciundis. 
Virtutes generis meis moribus accumulavi, 
Progeniem genui ; facta patris petii ; 
Majorum obtinui laudem, ut sibi me esse creatum 
Laetentur ; stirpem nobilitavit honor. 



Epitaph of young Lucius Scipio, son of Hispanus. 

Ii . CORNELIVS . CN . F . CN . N . SCIPIO . MAGNA . SAPIENTIA 
MVLTASQVE . VIRTVTES . AETATE . QVOM . PARVA . 
POSIDET . HOC . SAXSVM . QVOIEI . VITA . DEFECIT . NON . 
HONOS . HONOREIS . HIC . SITVS . QVEI . NVNQVAM . 
VICTVS . EST . VIRTVTEI . ANNOS . GNATVS . XX . IS . 
EAVSIS . MANDATVS . NE . QVAIRATIS . HONORE 
QVEI . MINVS . SIT . MANDATVS . 

That is— 

Lucius Cornelius Cnei filius, Cnei nepos. Magnam Sapientiam 

Multasque virtutes aetate cum parva 

Possidet hoc saxum, cui vita defecit non 

Honos ; Honore [i. e. cum Honore] is hie situs qui nunquam 

Victus est virtute ; annos natus viginti ; is 

Lausis [pro lausibus, i. e. exsequiis] mandatus, ne quaeratis honorem 

Qui minus sit mandatus. 

We have sometimes thought that four words of this noble 
epitaph — evi vita defecit non honos — would form a most 
appropriate inscription for the statue which it is intended to raise, 
by public subscription, to Sir William Follett. 

It will be borne in mind that the greatest of the Scipios, Afri- 
canus, was not buried in the sepulchre of his fathers, but on the 
lonely shore at Liternum. Livy does not speak with entire cer- 

x 2 



308 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

tainty on this point, and notices many conflicting rumours ; but 
he adds, " Et Literni monumentum monumentoque statua super- 
impositafuit quam tempestate disjectam nuper vidimus ipsi " (lib. 
xxxviii. cap. 56). The inscription of this monument was said to 
be ingrata patria, ne ossa qvidem habes. To this day the 
single word patria, now alone remaining, gives a popular name 
to the modern tower in which it stands imbedded — Torre di Patria. 

There is another most interesting relic of antiquity connected 
with the sepulchre of the Scipios, though not, we must admit, 
with the subject now before us. In one of the sarcophagi was 
found a gold ring with a cornelian stone, no doubt the signet- 
ring of one of these illustrious dead. It was presented by Pope 
Pius VI. to M. Dutens, who had written a genealogy of the 
Scipios, but who is now chiefly remembered from his agreeable 
Memoires d'un Voyageur qui se repose. M. Dutens either gave 
or sold this ring to the late Lord Beverley, and we have our- 
selves seen it in the collection of the present Earl at his house 
in Portman Square. On the stone is engraved a figure of 
Victory, of exquisite workmanship, while the ring in which it 
is set is of the very rudest and coarsest construction, such as 
might be made by a common blacksmith at the present day. To 
those who consider the state of the fine arts at that time, it will 
be apparent that the stone was engraved in Greece, but set in a 
ring at Rome. 

Among modern languages there is certainly none which in 
aptness for inscriptions can vie with the Latin. So far as our 
knowledge of them extends, we should be inclined to place as 
nearest to Latin for this purpose — 

Proximus huic, longo sed proximus intervallo — 

first Spanish, and secondly English. Several excellent inscrip- 
tions from the latter language will at once occur to the reader. 
As a single instance of the Spanish we will venture to transcribe 
the following, the rather since it is not to be found, so far as we 
remember, in any book of travels."* It stands on the noble stair- 
case of the Town-House of Toledo : — 



* Only two lines of it are given by Mr. Ford in his most agreeable and 
excellent Handbook (vol. ii. p. 850, ed. 1845). Among his few inaccuracies 
(for very few they are and far between) may be mentioned his account 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 309 



NOBLES DISCRETOS VARONES 
QUE GOBERNAIS A TOLEDO 
EN AQ.UESTAS ESCALONES 
DESECHAD LAS AFICIONES 
CODICIAS AMOR Y MIEDO ; 
POR LAS COMUNES TROVECHAS 
DEXAD LAS PARTICULARES ; 
PUES VOS HIZO DIOS PILARES 
DE TAN ALTISIMOS TECHOS 
ESTAD FIRMES Y DERECHOS ! 

But inferior as modern languages undoubtedly are to the 
ancient in the true lapidary style, it may be said on the other 
hand that the moderns have not merely equalled, but even 
excelled the ancients on their own ground — inscriptions in the 
Latin language. This was one of the first objects aimed at upon 
the revival of letters — as the number of spurious Roman inscrip- 
tions of that period proves — and the attention paid to it has 
very far from ceased or declined at the present time. 

Perhaps, however, of all the modern Latin inscriptions the very 
best and the very worst might be shown at Berlin — both proceed- 
ing from the reign of Frederick IT. The former is affixed in 
front of the hospital for disabled soldiers — the Prussian Chelsea 
— and was written, we believe, by Maupertuis : 

LAESO SED INVICTO MILITI. 

Would it be possible to compress more sense and meaning in any 
four words, — to state with greater eloquence and feeling in one 
sentence both the noble object of the Royal founder and the just 
pride of the maimed veteran ? 

The second inscription at Berlin to which we have referred as 
to the worst, and on whose authorship we shall forbear inquiry, 
stands over the entrance of the Public Library : 

NVTRIMENTVM SPIRITVS. 



of another inscription at Toledo — the epitaph, namely, of Cardinal Porto- 
Carrero, on a plain slab in the pavement of the Cathedral ; this is quoted by- 
Mr. Ford, at page 843, as " Pulvis, et umbra nihil" but is, in fact, as follows : 



HIC JACET 

PULVIS 

CINIS 

ET NIHIL. 



310 LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 

It does not appear too much to designate this inscription (as 
Thiebault, we think, does in his 'Souvenirs') " anti-Latine et 
harbored 

In this, as in other branches of literature, English scholars 
have been, and are, honourably distinguished. We therefore 
observe with regret that among the many statues lately raised to 
eminent men in different parts of London, all attempt to illus- 
trate them by suitable inscriptions is omitted. The Pitt in 
Hanover Square has only a name and date ; the Canning of 
Palace Yard only a name ; the Nelson in Trafalgar Square and 
the Duke of York in Carlton Gardens have neither date nor 
name. With respect to the statue opposite the Mansion House, 
we have heard that a committee of civic dignitaries met in grave 
deliberation upon it, and could produce nothing beyond one word 
to be repeated on the several sides of the pedestal — Welling- 
ton ! We trust that whenever the statue of his Grace, now in 
preparation by Mr. Wyatt, shall be set up, the opportunity will 
not be lost of inscribing beneath it the noble lines of Lord Wel- 
lesley composed for that purpose : 

CONSERVATA TVIS ASIA ATQVE EVROPA TRIVMPHIS 
INVICTVM BELLO TE COLVERE DVCEM ; 
NVNC VMBRATA GERIS CIVILI TEMPORA QVERCV 
VT DESIT FAMiE GLORIA NVLLA TVJE. 

How seldom do we find the high literary skill of one brother thus 
adorn and celebrate the surpassing achievements of another ! 

The translation of these lines, though by Lord Wellesley's own 
hand, is, according to the usual fate of translations, far inferior : 

" Europe and Asia, saved by thee, proclaim 
Invincible in war thy deathless name. 
Now round thy brows the civic oak we twine, 
That every earthly glory may be thine !" 

But although we hope that in this instance the Latin will be 
preferred to the English, yet, as a general rule for statues in the 
open air, we think that the practice should be the other way. 
The superiority for inscriptions which we have acknowledged 
the ancient to possess over the modern languages is to be set 
against, and we think is outweighed by, the advantage of ren- 



LATIN INSCRIPTIONS. 311 

deiing the sense plain and clear to the great body of the people. 
We are persuaded that in proportion as national taste shall 
become more and more extended and refined, there will be a 
growing desire in every capital that new works of art may adorn 
it, and that suitable inscriptions may explain them, so that the 
accomplishments of the scholar may have their part in the 
honourable celebration, recording the virtues of the statesman 
or the warrior, and illustrating the genius of the sculptor or the 
architect. 



THE END. 



London : Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street. 






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